


Dreaming of Cas

by happylindsay



Series: Dreaming of Cas [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Mark of Cain, Angel Castiel, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Confused Dean, Conversations, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Destiel - Freeform, I Love You, Kissing, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Purgatory, Series Spoilers, Sexual Content, dean still has Cas's mark, some canon divergences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:58:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 51
Words: 34,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5164685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happylindsay/pseuds/happylindsay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean has a dream about Cas, he isn't sure what's confusing him more: the cryptic message whispered to him while he slept, or Cas's equally mysterious response when Dean decides to tell him about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Is it you?

“I'm dreaming,” said Dean as he sat up and scanned his surroundings. The room around him was his. His bed. His barren walls. His hands. But the edges of his mind blurred slightly in his pysche. Visually, it was perfection, but his brain sensed the dissonance. In fact, this may have been one of the most detailed dreams he'd ever had. Especially Cas. And Every element looked authentic and vivid leaving Dean cold and confused.

“Yes, this is a dream, Dean,” came Cas's deep voice, his demeanor and tone collected and calm as he stuffed his hands inside his trench coat. He stood a few steps away, perfectly still as if waiting for clarity to take hold of Dean.

“Cas," Dean said, "are you real? I mean, is it really you, not dream you?” Dean got up from the bed and finally moved towards Cas slowly and he felt a dizzying sensation as he walked, his movements duller and more deliberate than in the waking hours. 

Cas tilted his head as Dean walked up to him. “Of course I'm real,” he said plainly, his eyebrows scrunched. And yet, it did little to dissuade Dean from the discord that tugged at the inside of his consciousness.

Despite this, Dean shrugged it off; “Well, you never know. Dreams can be deceptive. . .”

Cas took a few steps towards Dean, standing close. “Do you dream of me often?” he asked, blue eyes fixed on Dean's, his demeanor earnest and unashamed. And this close, Dean felt as if he'd been stuffed inside the shell of a memory, Cas's hair slightly messy, not unlike the first time the two of them had met. And he could feel Cas's heat permeating the space between them. Too close.

“What—No, man, of course not. . . Why the hell are you pulling a creepy sandman act on me anyway?” He deflected, shuffling from one foot to the next, putting his hands in his pockets. But suddenly, the room started to change as he said this, and he could feel himself becoming more conscious as the dream fog lifted. 

“You're waking,” said Cas. “I'll have to be quick.” He leaned in, putting his hands on each of Dean's shoulders as if grounding him, leaning closer until his mouth was next to Dean's ear. He tensed as he felt Cas's hot breath on his skin while Cas whispered soft, slow words into his ear, sending chills down the his back as the air made contact. At this point, Dean's dream delirium had slightly returned, and he struggled to process the words. They floated through him out of order, and out of context, falling like broken puzzle pieces into his brain.

“What?” asked Dean, still unable to decipher Cas's message. But, before he could interpret it, he felt himself stir, and his eyes flew open, revealing his dark, empty room in the bunker. He was slightly sweating, his heart beating fast. But the room was chillingly silent, and Dean didn't stir as he took inventory of reality. And he spent the next half hour with his eyes closed and body still, attempting to pull Cas's words to the surface. To make sense of them. But it was an exercise as empty as his room. Because nothing came. The words had slipped from his mind as easily as they had fallen from Cas's mouth.

He considered praying, but waited. After all, it might not have really been Cas. . .


	2. Cas?

The next morning, Dean woke up early, grabbing a beer and a bagel from the fridge. He sat down at the table not bothering to find a plate or toppings and bit into the bread. He grimaced as he registered that it was slightly stale then plunked it back down on the table, disregarding the crumbs that tumbled to the floor as he did. Not that he was hungry anyway. He leaned back in his chair, his mind pulled back to last night's dream as he fiddled with a loose string on his shirt thinking about Cas. Wondering what was real.

Suddenly, Sam walked through the door sporting wrinkled pajamas and some impressive bedhead. He yawned, stretching.

“You're up,” Sam said, surprised. He sat beside Dean, grabbing a chair next to him at the table, gripping Dean's beer and picking it up, questioningly. “A bit early, isn't it?”

Dean shrugged, “Breakfast of champions.” He took a deep swig, then landed the bottle loudly against the table, the glass feeling dewy and heavy beneath his fingers.

Sam smirked, letting it go and stood back up to go grab his own breakfast. Dean shifted in his seat.

“Sam. . .?” he asked, directing the question to his brother's back. The taller man turned around and looked at Dean with a sleepy expression. And Dean hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He should probably tell Sam. In fact, part of him planned to. But, as Sam looked back at him with fluffy morning hair, eyelids half open, he paused. He recalled Cas's breath on his ear, his hands laying heavily on his shoulders and suddenly he felt uncomfortable.

“I like your hair, Einstien,” he said instead, and Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean heard his brother's bare feet padding against the floor as he left the room, and he downed the rest of his beer. He sighed. It was time to talk to Cas. _Time to pray,_ _I guess,_ he thought, as he walked through the halls to his room.

Once there, Dean sat on the edge of the bed, hesitating. Usually when he prayed, he needed information about the next biblical problem they were all facing. He needed information this time, too, but now that he was alone in his room again, it all felt trivial. It had probably just been a meaningless dream. But, he looked at his hands, remembering the tangible feeling of the dream. Of his room. Of Cas. What if Cas really were reaching out?

Then Dean relaxed a little as he realized that if that were the case, Cas would probably just tell him. Unless. . . unless he were in trouble, and couldn't. And Dean quickly found himself throwing his reservations aside. “Cas, buddy," he said, "are you there? I need to talk to you man. Can you just pop your feathery ass down here?” _So I can make sure you are ok. . ._ he added, worriedly thinking the last part to himself.

He tapped his toe, waiting for a reply. Long seconds passed, then minutes and Dean found himself pacing the room, checking the clock, sitting then standing again. Still, no response. Cas is probably busy, rationalized Dean, not wanting to entertain any of the other possibilities floating around inside his head.

“Shit” Dean exclaimed as he started to lose his cool. He banged his fist on the dresser, growing more anxious by the second.

“Dean?” came Cas's voice as he rushed towards Dean. Despite himself, Dean turned and grabbed Cas's arm, tighter than he intended.

"You're alright," he breathed, unable to hide the relief in his voice.

“Dean, what's going on? What's wrong?” Cas asked, suspicion growing on his face. 

Cas looked fine, and Dean felt his face growing redder by the second. He diverted his eyes, trying to pretend away his strange behavior, deciding to instead delve into the problem at hand. He swallowed.

“Cas, buddy," he said, clearing his throat, trying to re-instill a more casual tone, "I gotta ask you something.”

Cas stayed in Dean's personal space, reminding him too much of last night's dream, making Dean feel even hotter, and he found himself holding his breath.

“Anything,” said Cas, unblinking. Without hesitation. 

Dean ran his hands through his hair, looking at the floor sheepishly, then sneaked a glance at the dark haired man, his chin still by his chest.

“Did you visit me in a dream last night?”


	3. Confessions

Dean immediately knew the answer as he looked at Cas's face. Cas had no idea what he was talking about. Dean felt his shoulders drop. 

“Did you dream of me?” asked Cas, his face painted with confusion. 

Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets, bracing himself. _Shit,_ he thought. This was going to be awkward. 

He turned his back on Cas, walking a little bit away from him as he talked. 

“It's nothing,” he started, “I just thought that maybe. . .” Before he could finish his sentence, Cas was in front of him again, close to his face. _Why does he always do that?_ Dean thought. 

Dean diverted his eyes, but didn't move away. “It's just, you were trying to tell me something, but I couldn't understand it. I thought it must have been you playing dream stalker again, but when I woke up, I couldn't remember your words.” Dean felt his face growing redder and hotter, and he stuffed his hands further into his pockets. 

But Cas didn't seem uncomfortable at all. In fact, he looked contemplative. Dean forgot his own embarrassment momentarily as he tried to understand Cas's knit brows. 

“Cas, what is it?” he asked, stepping even closer into Cas's personal space. Cas was the one avoiding eye contact this time as he appeared to mull something over in his head. 

“It's just,” Cas finally said, “Interesting,” he finished, the last word trailing off. 

Dean scrunched his eyebrows. This was not the reaction he was expecting. To be honest, though, he wasn't sure how he thought Cas would respond. 

Dean waited for Cas to say more, but instead, he just continued looking pensive, finally abruptly announcing. “Dean, I need to go,” then quickly flying off, leaving him alone once more in his room, scratching the back of his neck, trying to decipher what had happened. 

“See ya. . .” Dean said quietly to himself. 

* * * 

That night, Dean dreamed of Cas again. And, like the first time, Cas whispered in Dean's ear. Dean's skin freckled with goosebumps at the encounter as Cas's words slipped away into the void between his parted lips and Dean's ear. Dean felt the room spinning as he woke, the walls melting away from him, hurling him back into consciousness. 

He woke with a start, sweating. “Cas” he mouthed, not allowing himself to pray out loud. “What is happening?” 


	4. Snow and Memories

The weather was cold, but Dean decided he needed to go for a drive. At three A.M. There was no way he was going back to sleep again, and he could tell from their last conversation that whatever was happening to him was a mystery to Cas. 

So, he got dressed, left a note for Sam, and started the Impala, driving out into the night. Until Dean left the bunker, he hadn't realized it had been snowing outside. White mounds blanketed the scenery as he slowly rolled along the quiet streets, his headlights muted by idle snowflakes wandering in front of the beams. 

He rolled down his window a crack, and inhaled the fresh air from outside. The icy breath rejuvenated his lungs, bringing him to the present moment, letting the dream's disorientation settle. A few houses he drove by had modest white Christmas lights strung along the rooftops, and Dean found himself driving slower past these. 

“What are you trying to tell me?” Dean asked aloud, after he felt more like himself, careful to avoid Cas's name, lest he be praying. Dean pulled over and closed his eyes again, struggling to pull the memory of Cas's words from his mind. 

At first, there was nothing. All he could recall was Cas's warm breath on his ear, and his hands on his shoulders. His face close to his. The skin on Dean's ear began to tingle slightly, and he felt himself drifting back into the moment. It was strange hearing Cas's deep voice speaking such soft, fluid words. Dean concentrated harder, his eyes squinted tightly shut, willing his brain to retrieve Cas's message. His mind resisted the memory as if he were trying to conjure one of his drunken exploits from the road. But, eventually, he felt his brain start to surrender. Piece by piece he again became part of the experience, Cas close to him, whispering in his ear. 

He listened carefully, then suddenly, he understood. As Cas spoke, Dean's mind was inundated with information. It was as if every word was bound to an image, an emotion, a sound, and a story. The actual things Cas said were scattered and nonsensical by themselves, like receiving the end of a book before the beginning. But he listened anyway, allowing each word to sink into his psyche trying to retain every bit of disjointed data. When he'd remembered everything he could, he opened his eyes quickly, starting the car, and rushing back to the bunker. 

* * * 

When Dean arrived, Sam was up, looking at his laptop on the table. 

“Hey,” he started, but Dean cut him off. 

“I need paper.” Dean said, rushing around, opening random drawers frantically. Sam quickly went to the right one and handed Dean a notepad and a pen, his face concerned. 

Dean quickly began to draw, closing his eyes briefly every now and then, trying to pull the information to the front before it disintegrated from his memory again. 

“What're you...?” Sam started asking before being shushed by Dean. He didn't ask any more questions, but watched as Dean struggled to write what he remembered. 

Finally, Dean placed the pen down on the table, looking at the paper with a stunned expression. 

Sam came closer to get a clearer look, then picked up the notebook, eyes skimming over Dean's scribbles. He held the writing up to Dean. 

“What the hell is this?” Sam asked, clearly confused. 

Dean paused, hesitating, his heart beating fast, then finally said it, the words sounding strange coming from his own mouth. 

“I think it's Enochian.” 


	5. Food for thought

Cas was perfectly still, thinking. He'd had been in the same spot for an hour now, eyes closed, and body unmoving. Each second passed over him. His brain, unconnected with time, was stationed far away, concentrated on looking for an answer. 

Frustrated, Cas opened his eyes. He wasn't going to get anywhere like this. Dean's story ran through Cas's head, and he found himself growing with frustration as he replayed it. 

“You were trying to tell me something, but I couldn't understand it,” echoed Dean's voice in Cas's head. The second he had heard it, he knew something was off. True, human's dreamed of curious things. Castiel hadn't had regular occasion to frequent people's dreams, but had visited enough of them to know that dreaming about a known acquaintance wasn't out of the ordinary. Even forgetting the words that were spoken wouldn't make an anomaly. 

No, it wasn't the dream itself that caused Cas anxiety, but the timing. Dean didn't know where Cas had been that night, because Cas didn't tell him. His hand twitched as he thought about the night before, the images flashing through his mind, each picture painted blood red like a candy coated nightmare. Cas grabbed his head, groaning, falling to one knee as pain ripped through his brain. 

“The after effects can be a bitch,” came a deep, accented voice. Cas saw a hazy shadow saunter towards him slowly. The man was dressed in black, his hands hidden in the pockets of his overcoat. 

Cas put a hand on the ground and pushed himself up until he was in a standing position. 

“I'm fine,” he said decidedly, the figure of the man coming into clarity in front of him. 

The shorter man smirked at Cas, shaking his head a little. “No you're not.” 

He came closer to Cas, standing in Cas's “personal space” as Dean was always calling it. Cas looked down into the other man's eyes, repeating himself more firmly: “I'm fine.” 

The man smiled again, shrugging, then giving him a little more space, which Cas was thankful for. “I'm sure you are,” he said sarcastically, “I mean thousands of winged do-gooders have gone where we've gone. Done what we've done.” He said the last part with a wink, and Cas felt himself getting annoyed. 

“You know they haven't,” Cas said softly, the admission feeling gritty in his mouth. “And besides, it didn't work.” 

The man rolled his eyes. “Millions of years old, and you'd think the angelic clan would have learned a little patience,” he said. Then in a more serious tone: “We need to try it again.” 

Cas felt his face grow a little hotter at this. “You said once,” he said, his voice accusing. 

His visitor paused before answering. “You and I both know you never would have come to me if you weren't desperate. Maybe it will be a week, maybe it will be a century, but eventually you'll come back because you need to know. And I'm the only one who would willingly do it.” 

Cas said nothing in reply, so the man continued. “Why forestall the inevitable?” 

Cas's head dropped, and he waited a long time before finally looking up again and answering. “I'll meet you tonight. Same place.” 

The man looked pleased. 

Turning his back on the man, Cas prepared to fly away, but before he did, he glanced over his shoulder. “And Crowley,” he said, giving him a hard look, “If you tell Dean about this, I'll kill you myself.” 


	6. What next?

“Enochian?” came Sam's surprised voice. “From where?” 

“I dreamed it,” Dean timidly answered. 

Sam didn't respond for a minute, his mouth opening and closing a few times as if he were testing his reply, trying to figure out what to say. 

Dean rolled his eyes answering for him. “Look, I know it sounds insane, but this was more than just a dream. I'm sure you can relate with your freak show demon visions.” He softened his tone as he registered Sam's face when he referenced his psychic abilities, “please, just put a little faith in me,” said Dean. 

Dean caught Sam smiling at his last remark. 

“Cas really has changed you,” said Sam, smirking,“faith. . .” he repeated. 

“Shut up,” Dean replied, turning his attention back to the notebook. Sam followed his cue and looked at the writing again. 

Sam looked at Dean. “So tell me about this dream.” 

Dean sighed, squinting his eyes briefly, and rolling his head. “Alright,” he conceded. “The last few night's I've had a dream about Cas coming to see me. He kept trying to give me a message, but I couldn't understand it, and now I realize why.” He said the last part holding up the notebook as explanation. 

“Great,” said Sam, unfolding his arms. “So we call Cas.” 

Dean sat down at the table and Sam joined him. “I already did,” admitted Dean. “He didn't act like he knew anything,” but before Sam could protest the validity of the Dream, Dean continued, “but I don't believe him. He may not know what's going on, but there's something. You didn't see his face. There's something he's not telling me.” 

Sam noted a hint of betrayal on Dean's face as he relayed the fact that he thought Cas was keeping things from him. Again. 

The younger brother leaned back in his chair. “Ok,” he said, “So what do we do?” 

Dean thought for a moment, then sighed for a second time, giving Sam a knowing look. Sam immediately shook his head. “No way, Dean.” 

“What other choice do we have? Cas is keeping something from us, and we need to know what this says.” 

Sam looked at Dean, clearly unhappy, but seeing Dean's point. 

“Alright,” he sighed. “Who's gonna call Crowley?” 


	7. Crowley's chair

Cas arrived at the warehouse just before dark. The weather was cold, but neither the King of Hell nor his angel companion seemed bothered by this. The room was lit with a few florescent lights hanging from the ceiling, giving the whole place a seedy look. An old operating chair was next to a metal tray filled with various instruments still sporting Cas's blood from the last encounter. 

“Very hygienic,” Cas said stiffly, trying to brace himself to do this again, but not feeling ready. 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “It's not like you can catch a staff infection. You're a bloody angel.” Then his head dropped and he whispered, “literally,” to himself seeming proud of his joke. 

Cas sat down hesitantly and uncomfortably in his chair. Crowley grabbed the metal ring and placed on cas's head. 

“Ready?” came Crowley's voice. Cas took a deep breath. 

“No,” he said, “but let's get this over with.” 

Crowley reached one hand up to a screw poking out from the metal band ringing Cas's head. He heard the slow screech as Crowely turned it closer towards his forehead. Cas held his breath in anticipation. 

“Three,” came Crowley's voice, “Two. . .” 

Suddenly, from the blood covered table Crowley's phone began buzzing. Both men paused. 

Crowley walked over and casually picked up the phone, noting the caller. 

“Well, what do you know, it's tweedle dee and tweedle dum,” he smiled up at Cas who did not seem pleased to hear this news. “How fitting,” said Crowley, knowingly. 

“Ignore it,” said Cas, his voice commanding despite the compromised position he was in, his forehead trickling with a delicate amount of blood where the screw had barely scratched it. 

“As you wish,” said the King, pressing the ignore button, then making his way back to Cas. “Now where were we?” 

Cas started to flash Crowley his best “bitch face,” but was interrupted as Crowley quickly turned the screw in deeper, causing blood to trickle down his temple. Cas groaned as his head seared with pain. 

“Anything?” asked Crowley, methodically. 

Cas shook his head, unable to speak. Crowley nodded and tried again. Cas squeezed his eyes tightly against the pain. They repeated this process four times, Crowley calmly examining each intrusion with no success. 

Then, just when Cas was about to ask Crowley to cease, as the pain was beginning to be unbearable, something happened. It was small at first, just a flash of light in front of his eyes. But slowly, it grew, colors filtering into the white like a melting watercolor painting. The scenery came together as Cas saw that he was standing next to Dean in a motel room. He could hear the rain lightly sprinkling outside the window. The lights were all turned off except a single lamp next to the bed. 

“I've been waiting for you,” came Dean's voice as he smiled. Cas felt himself smiling back. Dean's hair was soaked with rainwater, and it dripped occasionally onto his jacket collar. Cas watched as Dean's hand came up to cup his cheek, and Cas leaned into it, grabbing the back of it with his own. 

“Of course,” Castiel heard himself say. Cas watched Dean lean in closer and closer, until he could feel Dean's breath against his lips. Cas watched himself close the gap between them, locking their mouths together hungrily. The kiss was warm and loving. Cas felt Dean's hands move to his hips as Cas locked his fingers tightly in Dean's hair. 

Suddenly, the thunder peeled and everything went black. Cas sat up trying to catch his breath. He looked up at a startled Crowley, who hadn't expected Cas to jerk up so quickly. 

Cas looked at him. “Get me out of this thing,” he said. “I have to go.” 


	8. Three's a Crowd

Crowley dropped the bloody metal ring on the table with a clang as he watched Cas fly away, his wings contracting and protracting faster than human perception. The grayish warehouse light reflected on Cas's feathers' soft, black surface, leaving behind a mild, hushed breeze with each powerful beat. Crowley found himself momentarily absorbed in the display, before he was once again alone in the room. 

Again, his phone buzzed. The king wiped his hands lazily on a white rag, streaking it red before answering. 

“Well, hello boys,” he greeted, walking out into the cool night air, leaving the warehouse. 

“Crowley, listen, we need your help,” came Dean's voice, sounding strained. 

Crowley nodded to one of his Demon henchmen as he walked up, and the man brought him his coat, helping him into it. Crowley passed his phone from hand to hand, placing his arms in each sleeve one at a time. 

“Well, aren't I the king of favors tonight?” he sighed, snapping at one of his men to lock the warehouse up. He quickly acquiesced. 

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked, the sound of a car engine turning off in the background. 

“Nothing,” said Crowley, rolling his eyes. “Where are you?” 

Dean provided the address, and Crowley snapped his fingers landing himself in an abandoned parking lot. 

“An empty parking lot in the middle of the night, well aren't we the cloak and dagger type?” he said sarcastically. “Alright, what is this all about?” He buttoned up his coat, placing his phone in his pocket after hanging up. Dean stood by the impala, Sam behind him, sitting on the hood of the car with his arms crossed. 

“I need you to read something for me,” said Dean, feeling awkward asking for some reason. He held up the notepad close to Crowley, who took it, looking intrigued. His head popped up immediately. “Enochian?” he questioned. “Where did you get this?” 

“Doesn't matter,” Dean deflected, his voice harsh. “Can you read it?” 

Crowley's eyes squinted deviously, “I can, but the better question is, why should I? It's not like you two have been pro Crowley lately.” 

Dean's expression grew darker, “Well, we haven't tried to kill you, lately,” he said coldly. 

Then, unexpectedly, Crowley smirked. He held the notepad up, emphasizing it as he talked. “I'll read it. Hell knows no fury like the Winchesters. Besides, I'm beginning to rather like our little arrangement. I do my thing, you do yours. We stay out of each others way.” 

“For now,” said Dean, pointing at the notebook. “Well?” he asked impatiently. 

Crowley smiled again, seeming to accept this answer. He leaned over the notebook, skimming his finger across each symbol squinting in the poor lighting. He read for what felt like minutes to dean. Then suddenly, his face changed, slackening. He looked up at Dean with an expression of surprise. It only lasted a flash, before he smirked, regaining his calculating features. 

“Well,” he began, but it seemed as if he was talking to himself rather than to Dean. “I'm not sure what I just read. . .” his voice trailed off, and he looked contemplative. But, suddenly there was a flutter of wings to Dean's right. 

Cas arrived looking from Crowley to Dean, then back again, not giving much notice to Sam. “What is going on here?” His voice was deep, commanding, and slightly scary. 

“Cas. . . ” Dean started sheepishly, but Cas wasn't even looking at him anymore. His eyes were fixed solely on Crowley, brows drawn, fists balled. 

Crowley held his hands up in the air, one open in surrender and one still clutching the notebook. “I didn't say a word.” he said defensively. Cas raced to Crowley's side, expression furious, but just before he grabbed him, Cas's attention was sidetracked as he caught a glimpse of the notebook. He snatched it from Crowley's hand quickly reading it. 

“Where did you get this?” he demanded. Crowley looked wordlessly to the two brothers, standing in front of him looking more confused by the second. 

“Dean?” came Cas's voice as he turned towards the two men. 

Dean stood wordlessly, unable to process the events unfolding before him. Behind Cas, Crowley disappeared while he had the chance. Then, without answering Cas's questions, Dean pointed at the symbols in Cas's hands. 

“Cas, you are going to tell me right now what fuck is going on, and what the hell this says.” 


	9. In a Flash

Cas had asked Sam to leave, and Dean wasn't sure why. But Sam obliged without question, sensing the importance that they be alone for now. Dean would fill him in later. Cas walked towards Dean in the parking lot as they watched the impala drive away. 

Cas looked up at Dean and Cas's face held an expression Dean wasn't used to: hesitation. His shoulders were slack, and it took him a moment to make eye contact with Dean. When he did, Dean noted he looked exhausted. When Dean saw this, he felt himself lose his fire, instead speaking softly. His hand touched Cas's shoulder as he spoke. “Cas, please,” he said, this time pleading. “Talk to me.” 

Cas nodded, but still didn't speak right away. Then slowly, he said. “I need to show you something.” He reached forward to touch Dean's forehead, but paused right before making contact waiting for Dean's consent. Dean nodded, despite his dislike of angel travel. 

He blinked as Cas touched him, and immediately their surroundings changed. Surprised, Dean noted they were in a motel room. A single lamp was on by the bed. Dean furrowed his eyebrows, confused, looking for something meaningful. But, as far as he could tell, it was just an ordinary crappy motel room, like the ones he and Sam stayed at. Excepting the fact there was only one bed. He looked at Cas questioningly. 

Cas's face looked expectant, and fell slightly when he saw Dean's reaction. He regained composure but again was slightly timid when he spoke. “Dean,” he said faintly, “we've been here before.” 

Dean looked around again, trying to find the significance of a room he didn't remember and could barely be deciphered from hundreds of others he'd stayed in. 

“I don't think I've been here before,” he finally said. “Are you sure you have the right place?” 

Cas's head fell. “Yes,” he said, looking dejected, sitting down on the side of the bed. 

Dean looked around again, growing irritated. “Why are we here, Cas?” 

Cas's head dropped into his hands, and he spoke into them, muffled: “This is where we used to meet.” 

Dean shook his head, slightly, “no. . . I've never been here before. Cas, are you ok?” Cas's hands were still over his face, and he slid them off, sighing. He looked up at Dean, his hair slightly mussed. He looked so tired. Dean thought the whole action was disturbingly human. 

He sat next to Cas on the bed, and he looked at him. Sitting so close, Dean noted for the first time, the streaks of blood on Cas's trench coat. “Cas, what...?” he began, but Cas cut him off. 

“Dean,” he said, then not knowing how to say it, he put his hand on Dean's face, cupping it. Dean looked surprised, and looked as if he were about to pull away, but Cas held him there. 

“Trust me,” he said. Then, before Dean could object again, Cas and the motel room started to dissolve as a flash of light appeared, before images began to take shape. In a moment, they were again in the same motel room, but standing. He could hear the rain pouring outside the windows, and Dean noted that he was soaking wet. But, he couldn't just see it, he could feel it. His drenched clothes hung to his chest and his socks were wet inside his shoes. He felt his hair dripping above his face, stray droplets streaking down his cheeks. 

“I've been waiting for you,” he said, then felt himself smile warmly. In front of him stood Cas, completely dry, sporting his customary outfit and trench coat. The tie was flipped backward, and Dean reached to flip it over. Then, more softly, he heard himself say, “I didn't know if you would come. . .” 

He still held on to Castiel's tie, and he looked into his blue eyes, getting lost for a moment. Cas's expression was so warm. So welcoming. And in that moment, so human. 

“Of course,” he said. Dean smiled, lovingly and leaned in, closer and closer to Cas. Dean noted Cas's warm breath on his lips and he felt a chill go up his spine. His body longed to reach forward and touch Cas, bringing them closer together, but just before he could, Cas leaned in fiercely kissing Dean. Dean's hands found their way to Cas's hips as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He tugged at Cas's shirt until it untucked and he grabbed hungrily at the skin underneath, pulling Cas's hips closer to him. Cas responded immediately, putting his hands in Dean's hair, pulling at it. Dean felt Cas's warm breath in his mouth, and kissed back harder. 

The thunder peeled outside, the rain pelting in noisy sheets against the pavement. Dean reached up to the other man's shirt, slowly unbuttoning it, breaking away from the kiss. As he did, his eyes met Cas's, their stares unbroken as Dean freed each button, revealing more and more of Cas's skin to the cool air of the room. Cas breathed in deeply as Dean's hands met his chest, moving down it slowly, still unable to look away from the cool blue stare. It felt almost as if they were inside one another as their eyes became fused. 

Dean's hands moved lower, across Cas's belly button and down his abdomen, only stopping as he reached his belt, linking two fingers deftly inside of it, and using them to pull him into a chaste kiss. When they broke away, Cas opened his eyes again to Dean, but this time he read something in them he hadn't seen before, and didn't understand. Cas then leaned forward, placing his hands on Dean's shoulders, shifting his head to the side of dean's ear, then whispered. Dean closed his eyes as the sounds rolled across his eardrums. But, before Cas could finish, the thunder pealed, and the scene went black. 

Immediately, Dean was wrenched back into the moment with Cas sitting dejected beside him, waiting for Dean's reaction. On instinct, Dean flew to his feet, muscles tensing. 

He looked from Cas to the place where their shadow selves had stood and back again. 

“What. . .?” he began, then found he didn't have the words. Cas stood carefully, and Dean backed away from him, so Cas stopped, sitting back down. 

Dean stood wordlessly for a long time before he reacted. 

“I need to go,” he said. Cas stood to fly him home, but before he could touch Dean's head, he watched Dean walk to the door, opening and shutting it quickly, leaving Cas to the silence of the empty motel room. 


	10. Where's Dean?

Sam was making his fourth call to his brother when Cas appeared in the bunker. Without Dean. 

“Cas!” Sam said, rushing to his side. “Cas, you've been gone hours, I was starting to worry.” But as Sam registered Cas's facial expression, he halted. “Where's Dean?” Sam asked, his tone cautious. 

Cas looked up at the ceiling in reaction to Sam's question, his jaw tight. “Damn it,” he said, turning away from Sam slightly. “I thought he would be here.” 

In his peripheral, Cas noted Sam's brief eyebrow raise at his choice of language, but it was quickly replaced by concern as Cas's message set in. 

“He's fine,” said Cas answering Sam's question, “just confused.” Castiel walked over to the table, slumping down heavily in one of the chairs. Sam found a another nearby, sitting down as well. 

“Tell me what happened,” Sam said. 

Cas sighed, but then nodded, conceding. He didn't look at Sam when he spoke: “It all started a few months ago,” he said. Cas's pointer finger absently found its way to the table and he traced designs on the top, his eyes seeming to look through the flat surface to the ground. First circles, then figure eights, each design becoming more intricate than the last. 

“Angels don't sleep,” he said, “and by virtue of that fact, they can't dream. 

Sam leaned forward toward Cas, one elbow on the table, eyeing the invisible carvings Cas was making. 

But, suddenly, Cas's fingers stopped. He looked up at Sam, his blue eyes fierce and unblinking. 

“The thing is, Sam,” he continued, “a few months ago, I started dreaming.” 

Sam shifted in his seat. His mind reeled with questions, but instead he waited patiently for him to continue. 

“I didn't even remember falling asleep, when suddenly, I'm somewhere else,” Cas leaned back in his chair as he talked. “It's quite,” Cas's head tilted slightly as he seemed to try and find the appropriate word. He finally settled on “disorienting.” 

Sam nodded, letting Cas continue. 

“Not only did the dreams not make sense, but they were unpredictable, flashing in and out at random, taking me back to the same thing.” 

“Taking you back to what?” Sam said, not able to keep quiet any more. He had unknowingly scooted forward to the edge of his chair, and as he realized this, he moved back onto it. 

Then, unexpectedly, Cas smiled as if he were exploring a fond thought in his brain. “Taking me back to Dean,” he said. In that moment, Cas's facial features were so soft and bright that Sam understood. He smiled knowingly. 

Cas caught this and made eye contact with Sam, taking in the other man's reaction. Sam still smiled when he finally said. “You love him, don't you?” 

Cas's expression was unreadable. He didn't answer Sam, but instead reached a hand inside his trench coat fingering a piece of paper sticking out of the pocket laying against his chest. 

Suddenly, Sam's phone buzzed. Cas straightened up, looking expectantly. Sam shared his expression, but shook his head no when he looked at the caller. 

“Crowley,” said Sam, pushing the ignore button. Cas's face fell. 

“Hey, there's one thing you never answered,” said Sam, the call reminding him. “What did Crowley have to do with all of this?” 


	11. The Truth

Dean finished off his beer, letting it slam loudly against the bar, putting his finger up into the air, signaling the bartender for another. 

His head was starting to relax a little as his buzz hit, and he found his mind traveling back to the motel room. With Cas. 

He took another swig when it arrived. 

The lights flickered a little and suddenly Crowley appeared beside him. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” said Dean, not looking at him. Crowley sat down and ordered himself a drink, sighing. 

“Look, I think I deserve the chance to tell you my side of the story before you start on the revenge track.” As he said this, he was leaned over the bar, hands flat on the surface, face serious. 

Dean finally turned to him with a groggy look. “What are you talking about?” he asked. 

When he realized Cas hadn't told Dean anything, Crowley's reaction was immediate as his hands curled away from the counter top and hid back inside his pockets. He stood up, with a quick, “nothing, just. . .” he fumbled over his words. 

Dean quickly put a hand on the King's shoulder, pushing him back down into his bar stool. Crowley let Dean sit him down, sighing. “Such a flair for the dramatic. . .” he said. 

“Tell me what you know,” commanded Dean. 

Crowley's drink arrived, and he sipped from the straw. His fingers unconsciously drummed the bar as he spoke. “It's important that you know that Cas approached me,” he began, “not the other way around.” 

When he saw Dean's reaction, he said, “I know, I was surprised, too, after the leviathan fiasco. But once he told me his story, I knew why he had to come to me. You see, your little angel friend has been having some surprisingly human experiences lately.” 

Dean's mind flashed back to the motel room, the sound of the rain permeating his mind. “Such as?” he asked Crowley, ignoring this. He took a deep drink, trying to ready himself for Crowley's answer. 

“Dreams,” came the reply, surprising him. “Or so he calls them,” said Crowley continuing. “One night, he showed up, frantic looking, asking me about Semandrial, wanting to know how much I'd learned during our. . . time together.” 

Dean's eyes closed at this, and he felt his hands squeezing around the outside of his beer as the demon talked. 

Crowley noted Dean's reaction, “Oh, get off your high horse, you torture happy hypocrite,” he said. Dean was quieted by this and gave Crowley a look that said, 'just get on with it.' 

The king continued. “You see, when Naomi was controlling little Cassie, she did more than just turn him into my personal walking nightmare.” 

Dean shifted in his seat uncomfortably as again, Crowley hit a nerve talking about Cas's mind control. This conversation was getting more difficult by the second, and Dean's emotions were already raw. 

“Just spit it out,” he said, angry. 

Crowley leaned back, an annoyed look on his face. “You two,” he said, shaking his head. “You're the epitome of a dysfunctional relationship cliché.” He stood to go, dropping some money on the bar for his drink, but Dean's hand shot up to his arm, stopping him. 

“Please,” Dean said, his face apologetic, his breath smelling of alcohol. 

Crowley grabbed Dean's hand pushing it off his arm lightly before leaning in: “They weren't dreams, Dean, they were memories. Naomi took away his memories. . . of you.” 


	12. The Letter

When Cas finally found Dean, it was at Sam's tip to go to his favorite local bar. When he walked through the door, he half expected him not to be there, but breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized his form from behind. That is, until he got close. 

Dean looked up at Cas, his eyes glazed over, both hands holding onto an empty glass in front of him. 

“Cassss,” he said, his voice slurred, then his head lowered to the bar's top resting on it, eyes blinking. “You came.” 

“Of course,” said Cas, putting one hand on Dean's back, the other on one of his arms, the conversation an echo of his dreams, giving him the chills. 

“Are you here to get him?” came a voice from behind the bar. Cas turned to see a tall man, wiping out the inside of a glass with a rag, nodding to Dean's slumped over form. 

Cas let go of Dean, inching closer to the man, only stopping as his body was flush against the bar. “Why didn't you cut him off?” he accused, his voice dark. He stretched one of his arms over the bar to grab the man when Dean reached for it, stopping him. 

“I'mok,” slurred Dean. “Let's just get out of here.” Cas heaved one of Dean's arms over one of his shoulders as he lifted him up onto his feet. He glared at the bartender as he walked Dean to the door before flying away with him once he'd reached outside. 

He took Dean to the bunker, flying straight to his room; he didn't feel like explaining any more to Sam yet. When they were there, he laid Dean gently on the bed, helping him out of his jacket, and pulling the covers up around his body. Dean's eyes closed, and his breathing slowed, so Cas walked to the door to leave. 

“Wait,” came Dean's soft voice, almost a whisper. “You can stay if you want to,” said Dean, his eyes still closed. 

Cas nodded, then pulled up a chair beside Dean's bed, sitting down. He reached over and pulled the covers up towards Dean's chest before settling into his seat. Dean didn't object, but instead rolled to his side, pushing his face deeper into the pillow. 

Cas noted Dean's easy breathing and peaceful features, reaching over and gingerly running his hands through Dean's hair, before pulling back, unsure the touch would be welcomed if Dean were aware. He put his hands back in his lap, watching Dean relax into oblivion. 

When Cas was convinced that Dean was really, truly asleep, he reached into his trench coat pulling out a piece of paper from his inside pocket. The edges were worn and dog-eared, the ink on certain words beginning to fade into the creases where it was folded. He began re-reading the letter's contents, though he had them memorized. 

_Cas,_

_I'm starting to forget. I wish I felt hope right now, but something is breaking inside of me. For weeks, I've watched you, waiting for anything, any sign that you recall us. Standing close to you, looking into your eyes. Can you not see me pleading for you to remember?_

_I haven't slept in days, and I don't know how to fix this. Every time I try to think back to us, something else slips away. Like the night you flew me to the top of the grand canyon and we kissed. I can hardly picture it now._

_Everything is scattered and surreal, like looking through a window at a past life. Although, I guess that's what it's become. Something we used to have. Something dying._

_The more I struggle, the faster the memories fade, so I'm done fighting. I want to spend my last moments re-experiencing us before we drift out to sea. But, before I could, I needed you to know. I needed a place to tell you, you were loved, Cas, by me. And even if I forget us, there will always be a reality where we were together. Where we were happy._

_Yours,_

_Dean_

Cas folded up the piece of paper, putting it back into his pocket before looking at Dean's sleeping form. 

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered. 


	13. Pleading

“Again.” The voice was flat and strategic, coming from no place seen, yet permeating the entire room. 

The lights blacked out momentarily replacing the scene with an abandoned Warehouse. Electrical wires and piping strung along the walls, the floors clean and empty. Cas's angelic form could hear the footsteps before he could see him. He listened to the unsteady shallow breaths, the quiet sound of metal scraping on metal as the man cocked his gun. Cas stalked the sounds, letting them lure him closer. When he finally rounded the corner, Dean was there, his back turned, unaware of Cas's presence. Completely vulnerable. 

Cas Struck. Hard. He knocked the gun out of Dean's hands, quickly following it with a punch to the jaw, feeling the crunch beneath his fingers as he watched him fall to the ground. 

“No, Cas, No,” pleaded Dean reaching to stop him. Cas heard the sickly crack as he twisted Dean's arm, breaking the bone with little effort. Dean's eyes rolled into his head as he grunted through the pain. And, swiftly Cas raised his angel blade, gearing himself to deliver the final blow. 

But, as he did, his eyes drifted across Dean's face. Dean's breathing was ragged and his eyes frantic. “Please,” Dean said again, more quietly, his voice reminiscent of hundreds of prayers directed privately to Cas. Moments that belonged to them exclusively. Or at least it used to be that way. _How much has Naomi seen inside my head?_ Cas questioned, the thought of an intruder to their most intimate moments making him feel nauseous. 

“Cas,” came Dean's voice again, as Cas's blade hovered in the air, Dean's hands wrapped around his arm stopping him, but making no move to retaliate. 

For all her lack of empathy, Naomi seemed to understand the situation well; Dean would never fight back. Not with Cas. Not anymore. It was a perfect replica, and as Cas paused, he longed to reach forward and touch Dean. His Dean. To stroke his face, arms and body and heal every wound he'd inflicted, to end the expression of pain now screwed across his face. But even as he yearned for it, he regarded his hands, acknowledging the metaphorical poison that pumped through his brain and to every cell in his body. 

Through broken pleas, Dean's body lay prostrate on the floor, a willing sacrifice. And Cas begged with him. Begged for it to stop. “Please,” said Cas, eyes looking upward. 

“Please,” Dean echoed, tightening his grip on Cas. 

_I can stop this,_ thought Cas. _I don't have to do it again. I don't have to watch it again._

But, even as he resolved it, he felt his body betray him. “God help me!” Cas screamed as his blade slammed into Dean's chest. Blood seeped between his fingers, wetting and warming them, as he watched Dean's eyes gloss over, his arms thumping to the floor as the life faded from him. 

Cas pulled the blade from Dean's chest, the blood pooling more readily when he did. On his knees, he let the instrument clatter to the floor, spraying minuscule droplets of blood in its wake. 

Around him the scenery shifted again, the lights becoming brighter, the walls whiter as the Warehouse disappeared. Cas found himself back in the stark white grave, at least a hundred remains lying massacred across the floor, bodies mangled and twisted, most with a stagnant pool of blood ringing each lifeless form. All of them representations of the man he loved. Every Dean ended at Castiel's own hand. _Please, just let it end,_ he thought, shutting his eyes against the perversions that filled his view. 

But, moments later, the lights turned off again, the familiar scene of the Warehouse camouflaging the nightmare as Naomi's voice filled his ears. 

“Again.” 


	14. The Hell We Lived Through

When Dean woke up, Cas was there. He viewed Cas through the morning haze, blinking and trying to orient himself. Pieces of last night fell into place for him slowly, and he groaned as he raised himself to a sitting position. 

“Hey,” he said to Cas, who was folding up a piece of paper and putting it back in his pocket. His face shot up to Dean's, brightly. 

“Good morning,” said Cas. 

Dean rolled to the side of the bed, letting his feet spill over. His knees were close to Cas's, almost touching, but not. Dean took in Cas's appearance. His trench coat was still slightly spattered with blood on the collar, as if he hadn't had the time to think to remove it. The bags under his eyes corroborated this story, his clothes slightly wrinkled. 

He looked at Cas's hands and remembered them in his hair, gripping it, tugging at it, a wicked moan escaping Dean's mouth against Cas's lips. 

Dean's chest felt hot and he squeezed his eyes tightly, sending the image away.

“Cas,” he said. “I'm ready to talk.”

If Cas was surprised at this, he did not show it. Instead, he nodded. Cas stood up, then held his hand out for Dean to take. “Let's not do this here,” said Cas. Dean hesitated briefly, then put his hand in Cas's, his warmth enveloping his fingers, then closed his eyes. 

When he opened them, he inhaled quickly. They were standing at the top of a cliff. Stark crimson rock surrounded them on all sides. Dean wiggled his still bare feet in the red dust beneath them. His eyes followed the ground off the cliff, diving into almost bottomless chasms below. The sun was still coming up, sending pink waves across the scenery, starkly contrasting the shadowed areas that were too deep for the sunlight to reach yet. Dean felt his knees go weak at the sight, and he noticed Cas smiling at this. 

“It's beautiful,” breathed Dean.

“Yes,” said Cas, walking dangerously close to the edge, peering into the depths. 

“Cas,” Dean said, worried, but then retracted quickly, remembering Cas was never in any danger of falling.

Cas smiled again, freely, openly. He raised his hands up into the air, as if enjoying the breeze against his skin. Dean's heart beat faster at this, warming. It all seemed very uncharacteristic for Cas, and yet, part of Dean felt as if he were looking at a work of art. Unfettered Cas; beautifully uncomplicated in the morning outside air, a creation of a million little brushstrokes accumulating for the isolated purpose of making an angel smile.

“This is my favorite thing I've remembered,” he said, almost as if to himself. Dean took a step forward, closing the gap between them. 

“I don't understand what's happening,” said Dean, close to Cas, but careful to keep from the edge. “But I'm willing to try.” Cas's smile fell again as he was brought back to the gravity of the moment, and Dean felt himself mourning the loss of it. 

“What do you remember, Cas?” he asked. 

The sun was up now, fully shining on their faces, a cool breeze running along their skin. 

Cas paused; “I remember everything.” His face was conflicted as he said this, as if 'everything' was too hollow a word to contain the story behind it. “Dean, you and I were in love.”

Dean blinked a few times, letting out a bated breath. But then, he nodded. “Ok,” he said slowly. “Start from the beginning.”

Cas let his shoulders relax. Then, unexpectedly he stepped toward the edge of the cliff, sitting so his feet were dangling off. He motioned for Dean to join him. Dean froze. “Cas, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not too fond of heights. Airplanes freak me the hell out.” he shook his head, pointing to the edge, “nah, I'm good here.” 

“I would never let you fall,” said Cas. And, looking into Cas's earnest eyes, against all reasoning, Dean allowed himself to be persuaded to join him. Dean's descent was slow, but as soon as he let his feet hang from the edge, he found a sense of exhilaration. 

“The canyon is approximately five thousand feet deep underneath us at this very moment,” said Cas. 

Dean braved a glance below him, slightly leaning forward. “Don't ruin it with your nerd facts,” he said, feeling his stomach tensing again at the drop. 

“My apologies,” Cas said, but he was smiling. 

The sun was now fully up, turning the ruddy rocks into even deeper shades of reds and oranges. 

Cas sighed before beginning. “Our lives haven't been uncomplicated, and our story is no less so.”

Dean's hands gripped the cliff's edge tightly. “I need to know Cas,” Dean said, then looked at him. “And I think you need me to know, too.”

Cas turned his body closer to Dean. “I think it's better if I show you,” he said. “With your permission, of course.” 

Dean recalled their last attempt at memory transfer, feeling apprehensive, but gave the green light anyway. 

Dean felt Cas's fingertips lightly touch his forehead before he was hurled back into a memory. He was standing outside, surrounded by trees engulfed by the smell of the outdoors. It was dusk, and a light fog swirled through the air, breaking against the trees in waves. In front of him stood Cas, his face bristly with thin peach fuzz. He looked mangy, his clothes spotted with a collage of blood and dirt. Dean watched himself walk towards Cas, reaching up towards his face, lightly thumbing the prickly hairs on his cheek. Cas's light blue eyes radiated brightly against the filth of their surroundings.

Dean started slowly, “If you really had your ears on this whole time Cas, then you know I've been praying to you ever since we arrived in Purgatory.”

Castiel nodded, confirming he had. 

Dean let his hand fall, “In that case, I need you to know. The things I said. . . I meant every word.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick shout out to all the support, comments, kudos, bookmarks, etc. on this story, they've really motivated me to keep writing it. This community is just the nicest! :)


	15. White Light

Cas didn't respond, and even through the haze of a memory, Dean felt the forgotten emotions of the moment. 

“Cas,” he heard himself continue, “Cas, I've missed you.” 

It was hard for Dean to read Cas's face. Cas turned away from him in response. A light rain started sprinkling on the men, feeling cool against their skin. Dean grabbed Cas's arm, turning him sharply back around. 

“Did you even hear me?” he said, his tone sharp. 

Cas was looking at the ground, and Dean found it infuriated him. “I'm fucking baring my soul here, and you can't even look at me?” Cas looked up, but didn't speak. 

“Fine. You're not going to talk? Then I'll tell you my side of the story. That first night I prayed to you that I loved you, despite the fact I knew I'd never stop looking for you, _that_ was the moment I knew you were dead. . .” Cas briefly made eye contact at this before looking away again, appearing uncomfortable, this time his gaze met the treeline. 

“because I know you care about me too, Cas. And I knew if you were alive, you would never put me through that kind of hell.” Dean was standing in Cas's space, he breathed the words quietly to Cas, but they were laced with emotion. He leaned in closer, and he closed his eyes as he let his forehead rest on Cas's. Cas didn't pull away. He could feel their heat mingling through the slick layer of rainwater that coated their skin. Dean whispered to Cas now, his words softer: “I've never felt so alone as I did the moment I told you I love you.” 

Dean's eyes opened briefly just in time to see Cas squeezing his shut. Dean barely lifted his head off Cas's. “Cas,” he said. “Do you love me?” 

Dean held his breath in anticipation as Cas absorbed his question. Cas's eyes finally opened and when he did, a tear streaked down his cheek. “Yes,” he said softly. 

Dean exhaled his bated breath reaching down and gently grabbing Cas's hands and lifting them up to intertwine their fingers in the air. His forehead leaned on Cas's again, only this time he was smiling. “I love you too,” he said. His lips found Cas's, their kiss soft and slow. It was a tender moment. The sprinkling rain. The muted sounds of tumbling river water in the background. Around them the sun was setting, coating the landscape with dying light. As they pulled away, he thought that somehow they'd done the impossible. They'd created a heaven in the midst of hell. 

“I know now you were trying to protect me, but when I said it, I thought you would come to me. Even for a minute.” said Dean softly. 

Instead of answering, Cas unexpectedly grabbed Dean's jacket and helped him slide out of it. Dean let it fall to the dirt in a pile. Wordlessly, Cas's palm slid up Dean's arm, causing him chills. His hand stopped at Dean's shoulder, slipping underneath his sleeve, finally resting against his only physical scar from hell. Cas's hand fit perfectly inside the print. A subtle white light appeared where their skin met as if fusing them together. 

“I'm here now,” said Cas as the sun set fully. But, even through the darkness, Cas's grace shone where it touched Dean, the effect blanketing them with muted light. 


	16. Reactions

Dean drifted from the memory, back into the present moment trying to orient himself again. They still sat on the edge of the canyon, the drop feeling surreal as he solidified his awareness of his surroundings. Cas looked at him expectantly. Time stretched in front of them, Cas hopeful, Dean silent. Cas wanted him to comment, to say something, he could tell. 

He took a deep breath, intending to go there, to talk about what he'd just seen, hoping to give release to the force of emotion pulsing through his mind. He wanted to open up to Cas, wanted to reach out to him emotionally, and, adding to the complexity and confusion, physically. He struggled to ground himself, to find his breath again as his heart raced. 

But, when he spoke, all that came out was: “Why isn't there any snow?” His words lacked density, floating from him without substance. 

“What?” questioned Cas, shaking his head. 

“It's December. I should be freezing. This feels more like summer than winter. Where is the snow?” 

It wasn't what Cas wanted to hear, but he supplied the answer anyway. “I took us back in time,” he said plainly, “just a few months, so we could enjoy the weather.” 

Dean nodded, eyeing the landscape. He had to admit, it was a beautiful gesture. 

The sun saturated Dean's clothes and started to turn his skin pink where it made contact. A slight breeze caused Cas's coat to flap in tiny pulses like a heartbeat. Dean reached over, smoothing it out. 

Cas stared at Dean's hand unblinking. Dean let his palm run across Cas's chest, sneaking his fingers under his tie until he felt the faint thump of Cas's heart. Cas moved to place his hand on top of Dean's but before he could, Dean's hand brushed across a folded up piece of paper in Cas's coat pocket. Before Cas could stop him, Dean reached for it, tugging it out of the coat. 

“What is this?” he said, holding it up. “I saw you reading this last night.” 

Cas lightly took it back from Dean, opening it up, unfolding the deep creases of wear, revealing Dean's own handwriting. 

Cas smiled. “It's a letter you wrote to me, Dean. Though I must admit, I don't know if you ever actually intended for me to see it.” 

Dean's head rose slightly. “Then where did you get it from?” 

Cas bit his lip hesitantly before opening his mouth to answer, drawing a long exhale from his lungs. “I. . .” 

Unexpectedly, a voice cut him off from behind; “I hoped you would never find that, Castiel.” 

Both men were up quickly, each gripping their respective weapons, stance readied. Dean felt his heel hovering slightly off the edge of the cliff, and he pulled it forward. The intruder stood alone, observing their reactions with interest, but did not raise a weapon. 

“How?” came Dean's voice, sounding breathy and stunned. The wind blew behind them harder now, blowing thin sheets of red dust into their eyes making them squint. 

Cas blinked then tightened his grip on his weapon. “Naomi?” 


	17. Descent

Dean stepped toward her, knife raised, expression hardening. “I don't know how in the hell you are alive, Naomi, but you are a fucking idiot for coming here.” He eyed Cas, waiting for him to react, to use his angel blade, to deliver the blow he wished he could with his own weapon. But, he wasn't prepared for what he saw: hesitation. 

“Cas, kill her!” Dean said, his voice urgent. 

But Cas furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head. “Why are you here?” he asked. He walked forward, circling Naomi as he spoke. “You're from the past, I can see it.” His voice was level and detached. “Let me guess,” he continued, “one of your angel puppets came back to warn you?” 

Naomi didn't move, instead letting Cas orbit around her as she adjusted to continue looking at him as she talked. “I was warned of my own death, yes.” 

Cas continued walking, looking down occasionally as if in thought. “Then you must know,” he said, “you must know you've lost.” His circles were getting smaller, allowing him to get closer. “I'm going to ask you again,” his chin dipped downward, his voice chilling “Why are you here?” 

Dean didn't like where this was going. Cas was allowing himself to get too close to her. He tightened his grip on his knife, eyes darting from Cas to Naomi. 

Naomi's expression remained calm as she spoke. “To fix this.” 

This time it was Dean that replied. He took a step towards her brandishing his useless knife in front of him. His voice was low and dark.“To fix this?” he echoed. 

Cas raised a hand to stop him, but Dean ignored it, walking closer, expression black. He felt his breathing speed up as his muscles contracted. He was near enough now to see her eyes, and he noted the pull in them. “Fuck you!” he yelled, plunging the knife into her heart, feeling the familiar resistance of flesh as the blade sunk beneath the surface. He couldn't breathe, his lungs screaming at him through the adrenaline. She didn't even bleed as she easily pulled the blade from her chest, letting it slip from her fingers to the dirt. 

“Dean,” she said, her voice calm. “I've been told that I'm the reason Sam is alive. I'm not quite sure I deserved that.” 

Dean looked at Cas, his eyes begging him to act. “Do it,” he whispered, his voice desperate. 

Cas avoided Dean's gaze, his eyes darkly fixed on Naomi. “Why are you really here?” he asked again. 

Naomi stayed planted where she was, making no move to advance or draw a weapon. 

“I told you,” she said. “To fix this.” 

“What the hell does that even mean?” Dean said, his voice furious. 

Naomi looked into Dean's eyes with a sickeningly compassionate expression that made Dean's stomach turn. Uncharacteristically, she smiled sympathetically. “Dean,” she said slowly, ignoring his question, “I need some time alone with Castiel.” 

“Like hell,” Dean hissed. He tensed, but before he could react, Naomi raised her fingers quickly to touch them to the front of Dean's forehead. He felt the light pressure of her skin against his, then his knees began to go weak. He fought unsuccessfully against his slow descent as everything faded into black. 


	18. Blood

Castiel looked down at Dean's sleeping form, a crease assembling on his face. “You didn't have to do that,” he said. 

Naomi crouched down, ignoring Cas's comment. “He really is beautiful,” she said, stroking a hand lightly through Dean's hair. Her palm slid down, touching his cheek slowly. 

Cas felt his stomach turn to knots, his breathing increasing, but he kept his feet firmly planted to the ground. 

“And it's not just aesthetically.” She turned to look at Cas reciting her words like an art teacher to a student, analyzing the still life in front of her. “He's a symbol. Of sovereignty. Of free will. Heaven's gift to mankind; to govern ones self.” 

She stood, wiping the dirt off her slacks with her hands. Cas eyed Naomi, gesturing towards Dean's limp form, “and yet, so quickly you take his power away,” he said. 

Naomi looked to where Cas was motioning, smiling as she caught his meaning. “Come now, Castiel, we've been around a long time, you should know by now," She left Dean's body to walk towards Cas, her feet abandoning small footprints behind her as she stepped. “The Star of David, The Cross; Symbols are for mankind. Not for angels.” 

Cas felt colder as she said this. The wind echoed his senses, washing over them, raining small bursts of blood colored earth over their heads. His feet ached to go to Dean. “What do you want with me?” 

She looked to the sun, letting it wash her face in yellow. “You're precious to me, Castiel.” she said slowly. “All the angels are. But you, I've been inside your head. I've felt your desires. I've seen your sins.” She glanced at Dean. 

Cas's blade raised slightly higher, but he kept it still. “How did you find us?” 

Naomi's brow furrowed, “Castiel, don't you see? You may have broken our connection, but there's a reason that not all of your memories came flooding back when you touched the tablet. A reason why I can find you, even when you change location or even time periods.” She nodded towards Cas's blade. “A reason why you haven't simply stabbed me and ended this while we speak. And I can only assume that it is the same reason,” she said slowly, “why you found Dean's letter, even though I'd hid it away as soon as my spies found it. Part of your mind always has and always will be connected to me.” 

Cas felt his chest tighten. But, as he felt the anger seep in, it had a liberating affect. He somehow tugged free of whatever had held him back before, even if it was just momentarily. He felt in control of his mind. His limbs. He struck fast. He slashed at Naomi with his angel blade, drawing blood as it grazed her arm. She stepped back, grabbing the wound, looking surprised. Cas watched as the blood seeped between her fingers. She gave him an unreadable look. He moved to attack again, putting more force behind it then before, but she vanished, leaving Cas swinging into empty air. He turned in fast circles, trying to anticipate her return. He was so concentrated that it took him a moment to notice, but when he saw it, he let his blade fall to his side. He eyed the spot where Dean had been. Cas fell to his knees. He was gone. 

His eyes remained lifelessly fixed where Dean had been only a moment ago, a sense of panic and loss seeping into his chest. _Please, Naomi,_ he pleaded, _don't hurt him._

In the back of his mind, a voice responded, clear and cold; “You are an Angel Castiel. It's time you start acting like one.” 


	19. Dean-less

“There's no one here,” came Sam's voice from the next room. A moment later he walked through the door, carding his hands through his hair, sighing. 

“Alright,” replied Cas, walking towards him. “Let's try again.” He reached his fingers up to touch his friend's forehead, but unexpectedly, Sam scooted back. 

“Wait a second, Cas,” said Sam. “We've been at this for an hour. Are you really sure this is the best approach-- Jumping from place to place randomly hoping there's a chance she _might_ be hiding Dean there?” 

Cas furrowed his eyebrows, growing frustrated. “No, I don't think this is the best approach," he said, his tone harsh, "But I don't have any idea what else to do. And besides, I told you, it's not random. These are places she had me go during those months she controlled me.” 

“Exactly!” said Sam. “Those sound like the last places she would take Dean. Naomi knows you would look there. We need a different tactic.” Sam's face softened as he slowly said, “Cas, I'm going to say something even though I know it's the last thing you want to hear.” 

Cas looked questioningly at him. Sam continued; “I think you know where we need to look next.” 

Cas squinted in confusion before realization dawned on him.“It's too risky,” he balked. “She wouldn't. . .” But even his face betrayed his small admission that this might be a possibility. 

“Cas,” said Sam, placing his hands on Cas's shoulders. “You need to go back to heaven.” 


	20. Awake

_You need to wake up._ Footsteps echoed in the background, muffled voices fading in and out. 

_Wake up, Dean._ Dean's blood pumped densely through his veins, his limbs heavy. Though his eyes were sealed shut, his pupils moved freely behind his lids, dream scape materializing then vanishing at intervals; ghosts, guns, the impala. . . Bobby. Demons. John. Slowly, the images faded away as the room began to spin, Dean's vision darkening until he was hurled into blackness. 

He floated deeper, drifting in the darkness, the void swallowing him gently now. Sinking. Sinking. 

_Dean!_ _Dean, you need to wake up, now!_ His mind fished for understanding, finally recognizing the message his brain was trying to send him. Naomi was here. Cas was in trouble. He jolted awake, his eyes springing open to the light. He gasped, jerking up to a sitting position, blinking. His chest heaved in and out as he regained his breath. His muscles tensed as he familiarized himself with his surroundings. 

“Good,” came Naomi's light voice. “You're awake.” 

Dean scanned the area noting its sterile appearance. The walls and floor shone white. Dean was sitting on the floor next to an operating chair at the center of the room, a sharp instrument Dean didn't recognize on a small table beside him. He jumped up, turning quickly towards Naomi. Another man he didn't know stood beside her. 

“Wha-- where am I?” he spat, positioning himself across from the two of them, backing up against the wall. He steadied himself, his legs still weak from his time knocked out. He noted his empty hands and bare feet, feeling defenseless. He braved a quick look behind him, realizing he was literally backing himself into a corner. 

Naomi didn't even bother to walk towards Dean. Instead she gestured to her companion, “Nathaniel, why don't you keep a look out, I'll stay with Dean.” The man nodded and walked from the room, barely encouraging Dean's prospect of escape. His chest tightened in response. 

“You're in heaven,” said Naomi as the door closed behind Nathaniel, the room somehow seeming smaller when Dean was alone with her. 

He shifted uncomfortably giving the room another once over. “Whose?” he asked. Naomi smiled. She looked as if she were talking with a child, her tone patronizing when she spoke. “Not a human's heaven. A sanctuary for Angels. A place. . . to forget.” 

Dean internalized this, his eyes dipping briefly as he looked away from the chair. Ghosts of Cas filled his mind as he realized where he was. His eyes searched for something, anything that he could get to quickly to defend himself. Naomi tilted her head to the side, examining Dean, slightly reminding him of Cas. Dean found the gesture unsettling. She didn't make any move towards him. 

_Why am I still alive?_ He thought. _And where is Cas?_ He glanced at Naomi again, his face hard “What do you want?” She didn't answer, so Dean continued, “Where is Cas? If you hurt him, I swear to god--” 

Naomi smiled condescendingly. “You'll kill me? No, I don't think so.” 

Dean leaned in trying to muster confidence he didn't feel. “I've been known to be pretty resourceful when I need to be.” 

Naomi blinked, glancing away. “Cas is alive,” she said. “I imagine he's looking for you right now. It'll only be a matter of time before he puts the pieces together and shows up.” She shifted, looking Dean in the eyes, “He always does doesn't he? Chooses you.” Naomi rounded the chair, the angle of the light changing, adding more shadows to her face. 

Dean's back pressed firmly on the wall now, his fists balled. Silence ensued, causing Dean's ears to ring. Naomi peered into Dean's eyes, her expression frighteningly tranquil. Dean swallowed, glancing at her hands, picturing them splashed with Cas's blood. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice broken. “The tablet is gone. You're too late to do anything about Metatron or heaven. . . and Cas. God, Cas . . . ” he trailed off, his voice charged. But, as he said Cas's name, he examined Naomi's expression with interest. 

Then, his face suddenly changed as a realization dawned on him. “Fuck, Naomi, Cas is just a plaything to you isn't he?” Dean took a determined step forward. “A means to an end, sure. But what happens when you are a washed up angel, all of your causes dried up, your home in shambles? You come back to what you know. Victimizing one of heaven's most powerful angels, because you can.” He stepped to the side, his shoulder glancing up against the other wall. “Bet it gives you a sick sense of control.” 

Naomi's face was unreadable and it took a moment for her to reply. “I'm here to help him,” she said. “He was meant to be more than your errand boy.” 

“Yeah, he was meant to be yours,” Dean spat, angrily. 

Dean didn't know if she flew, or he blinked and she landed right next to him, but in a split second he was face to face with Naomi's wrath staring back at him, finally released. 

“I was going to wait until Castiel got here, but I think maybe I'll just get started.” 

Dean looked at her apprehensively, his legs slightly crouched as if ready to either bolt or fight. 

“I have some questions for you, Dean Winchester, and I think it might be time for you to sit in my chair." 


	21. Dusk

  


Cas sat crouched outside of an old house in the middle of a bayou. An old man and woman relaxed on a rickety bench on the front porch. They sat quietly, their frames unmoving, yet occasionally blinking bringing an awareness that they were alive. Crickets chirped in the background, creating a sense of false serenity that Castiel didn't feel. Sam was beside him as they hid in the thicket of trees. The sun was setting, the darkness effectively camouflaging them.

“Do you see anything useful?” Sam whispered.

Cas's brows furrowed as he surveyed the scene again. “It's just the two of them,” he said. Sam pulled a pair of strange looking binoculars out of his bag. “What are those?” Cas asked.

“They have night vision,” Sam explained. Cas nodded, forgetting that though he could see Sam, the experience was not mutual.

“So how do we do this?” asked Sam, now watching the couple through his instrument.

When Cas spoke, his voice was hollow, “There are too few of us left to have the entrance to heaven adequately protected. I don't want to hurt them. We'll try diversionary tactics first.” He leaned his head back on the tree trunk behind him, sighing. “Are we sure she is even here?”

Sam's voice materialized from the darkness. “It's the best lead we have, Cas, you know that. The only question is, how would she enter heaven? How did you even find the portal?”

Cas straightened his head again, his muscles feeling tense. “I followed an angel here months ago, though I'm not sure why. It's not like I ever expected to go back.” Sam's face fell as he heard Cas say this. Cas ignored him, continuing, “Naomi knows more about heaven's ways then most angels.” Cas paused as he thought of her craft, his brain starting to itch at the memories. “There's a chance she would know how to make her own portal. Unlike the rest of her victims, she maintains knowledge that most angels don't.”

The air felt muggy, and though the couple on the bench didn't move, the full onset of darkness increased the tension, creating a sense of time running out. _Hold on Dean,_ Cas thought.

“Alright Sam, you will lead them away, and I'll sneak in through the portal.” He stood up, readying his angel blade letting it fall into his hand.

“Wait, what? said Sam, standing in turn. “No way, I'm coming with you,” he continued, his voice gaining volume.

Cas shook his head. “No. You're skilled, Sam, but we don't know what I'm walking into. And I only have one angel blade. This is heaven we are talking about. _My_ territory.”

Sam's jaw was tight. “This is my brother.”

Cas groaned, getting irritated. “Look, we both care about Dean, but I can't protect both of you. You will be defenseless up there.”

“I get it, Cas, I do, but I'm not letting you go up there alone.” His tone was gaining momentum, sounding strong as he towered over Cas.

Cas snapped. “Sam!” he hissed. Though his voice came out in a whisper, it conveyed complete frustration. “I am barely keeping it together right now! The thought of Dean with. . .” his voice faded out ever so slightly. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “I will do anything for Dean. Please, Sam, trust me.” He looked up to the night sky, his eyes blinking furiously, his breathing uneven. The thick humidity gathered on his skin, droplets running down across his jaw. 

Sam didn't answer at first, the sounds of the outdoors increasing in the absence of their words. After a long silent moment, Sam's voice finally tuned in, “Alright, Cas." he relented, his voice raw. "Please, just bring him home.”


	22. Sifting

The dim room glowed pale blue with the light of the tv screen. Nothing was playing and the atmosphere was still, except the sound of an old clock ticking in the background and contented breathing coming from the two men in the room. Dean sat up, one arm running the length of the couch. Cas was laying down, his head resting on Dean's thigh, his eyes fixed on the empty television screen. Dean's free hand traced across Cas's scalp as he ran his fingers through his hair. 

“That feels nice,” said Cas blinking sleepily. 

Dean smiled, “we should probably tell Sammy about us soon. It's been weeks since you've been back from purgatory. . .” he trailed off as if he wasn't fully convinced of the words coming out of his mouth. “Then again,” he said, “I kind of like having this be just our thing. . . for now.” 

Cas smiled without looking up, “me too.” 

Suddenly, a female voice materialized in the room. “ _No, I've seen this memory before in Cas's head. It's not the right one, Dean_.” 

As if on cue, the scene switched, and suddenly Dean started to become more aware of what was happening. A moment ago, he had felt integrated with the moment as if living it organically, but, like a lucid dream, he'd somehow woken up to his reality. Naomi spoke again in his head. “ _Dean, I'm going to direct your subconscious. Try to let go, and allow me in_.” 

Dean started to panic, trying to move his arms, legs, anything, but it was as if he were detached from his corporeal body. How long had Naomi been rifling through his mind? He didn't even remember how she'd gotten him into the chair. Did she put him to sleep again? He could only assume. 

_It doesn't hurt_ he marveled, thinking of Samandriel and Cas's experiences. “ _You're human, Dean.”_ answered Naomi, “ _I can access your mind much easier. It doesn't need to hurt like it would with the angels._. . _if you cooperate_.” 

But Dean pounded against the edges of his psyche, willing himself to break free. “Relax, Dean,” said Naomi quietly. 

Dean didn't respond, but a new scene materialized anyway. It seemed his collaboration wasn't necessary after all. He watched he and Cas burning a body together. _No,_ came Naomi's voice in his head. The scene shifted again to the two of them out for a walk. _No._ Dean and Cas fighting leviathan in purgatory. _No._ Cas trying and failing to make Dean breakfast. _No._ Cas smiling at Dean as he fell asleep on his chest. _No._

Naomi surfed through Dean's memories at a reckless velocity, leaving Dean frustrated. In each moment he relived his past again, gaining memory after memory of his time with Cas, in awe of his broadening image of their relationship. But it was too fast. Again and again Naomi would yank him from the moment inhibiting him from fully immersing himself in the experience. 

After some time, though, he started seeing a pattern. Most of the memories, he realized, took place after their return from purgatory. And, many of these were the most potent, intimate moments between them as their relationship grew, during a period when their closeness was private. Or at least they had thought it was. Dean rifled through his new memories highlighting moments of Cas acting strange, disappearing for days, saying things that didn't make sense. He now deposited Naomi into these scenarios creating a much clearer picture of their time together. They were never truly alone. 

Images continued flashing in front of him, his brain surging with information faster than he could process it. _What are you looking for, Naomi?_

“ _Almost there, I can feel it_ ,” she said, as if this were an answer. Then, finally;“ _This is it_ ,” she said. Dean's brain slowed down taking in the new setting; he was driving the impala, Cas sitting next to him. Quiet music played in the background. Cas was looking ahead at the stretch of road, and Dean was looking at him. 

“So you think it's a ghost?” said Cas, keeping his eyes ahead. Dean watched the two men from his ethereal plane. 

“Yeah,” past Dean said, sounding distracted. Another car passed by, its headlights coming closer then disappearing, leaving them alone again on the road. Past Dean continued looking at Cas, glancing only briefly at the road when necessary. He looked lost as if viewing something secret only he could see. 

“Hey Cas, I have a question for you,” he said. Cas was silent, so he continued. Past Dean started slowly, his voice unsteady and lacking in confidence, a small betrayal of emotion garnishing his words. “Did we ever. . . do you remember ever?” He stopped, looking unsure, then finally said “Cas, have you ever been to the Grand Canyon?” 

Cas finally looked at past Dean, his blue eyes framed by drawn brows, an expression of curiosity forming. Even in the darkness, his face was bright and clear. “No, I've never had a reason,” he said, “But I've always wanted to go. How did you know?” The song on the radio ended, prompting the next one. Cas shifted in his seat, his body turning closer to Dean, anticipating his response with interest. 

Memory Dean's reply was delayed. “I—” he blinked, appearing lost. “I'm sorry, what?” 

Cas tilted his head, waiting. When Dean didn't go on, Cas looked perplexed. “You asked if I'd ever been to the Grand Canyon,” he said. “Dean, are you alright?” 

Past Dean turned to the road ahead, the broken yellow lines of the highway blurring into one. Cas leaned forward, looking at him more intensely as Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel appearing overwhelmed. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “I don't know why I asked that,” he said, his voice fading out. 

The silence hovered as the men went quiet. The scene seemed to slow as Naomi's voice chimed in again, sounding thoughtful “ _You started to forget. But why_? _”_ she wondered. 

And, as he registered this, Dean suddenly understood. _You had no idea why that happened to me. It was purely unintentional._ Dean marveled at this himself. Why _had_ he forgotten? Naomi had clearly been nowhere near him when he started distributing symptoms. Maybe he. . . suddenly his train of thought was derailed as a figure appeared in the back seat. 

_What?_ Dean jolted, but the man didn't see him. And to add further confusion, Dean's past self appeared oblivious to the new intruder. Cas, on the other hand, spotted the man immediately. He glanced at him covertly, expression unreadable. The man spoke directly to Cas, ignoring Dean's unsuspecting form entirely. “You'll report to me for the next few days,” he stated bluntly, “Naomi is unavailable.” 

_Wait, who the hell is this guy?_ Dean thought, uncomfortably. Past Dean had no inclination of anyone else in the car. How many times had that happened? Two? Three? A dozen? Dean was starting to realize how tarnished everything felt with Naomi's fingers weaving through it all. _God, Naomi,_ he thought angrily, _is anything sa--_ Suddenly, without warning, Dean was abruptly yanked back into his body, eyes flinging open to the light. Naomi leaned over him, face serious. Dean jumped slightly, the change surprising him. He moved his arms, only to find he was restrained to the chair. 

“What--” he began, but was quickly cut off. 

“You saw the man in the back seat?” said Naomi, her tone frenzied and demanding. “Tell me right now what you saw.” 

“You are a new kind of vile, you know that Naomi? I mean, I've come across some nauseating nightmares in my past, but you have reached a new level. What the fuck gives you the right?” he said, thinking of Cas tethered to Naomi's whims, an unwilling pawn. Not unlike he felt at the moment. 

Suddenly, Naomi smacked Dean across the face and he felt his jaw crack slightly from the force of it. He looked up at her, and her fierce eyes held him darkly. “What did you see?” she asked again. 

“You should know. You forged a ticket inside my brain,” he snapped, sitting up straighter. 

Naomi hit him again, this time causing Dean to spit out a small amount of blood. He glared at her, tugging at his restraints. 

In response, she leaned in, her voice deadly, “I said it doesn't have to hurt, not that it can't. Just tell me yes, or no. Did you see the other angel in the back seat of the car?” 

Dean didn't answer, but his face betrayed him. Naomi stood up straight, eyes widening slightly. “I don't understand, your past self never saw him.” she said. Then she turned to Dean, her fury abating, finally revealing her surprising conclusion; “Dean, I don't believe that memory belonged to you.” 


	23. Mirrors and Doors

The night was calm, warm and quiet. Thomas placed his hands on his knees. He breathed through his nose quietly. Beside him, Sarah sat with her hands in her lap, her white hair pulled back into a loose, sensible bun. He looked at her closer, his mouth turning up into a small smile. They both sported wrinkles, and signs of sunspots and aging. 

Thomas scanned the darkness of the yard, blinking into the night. Nothing. They had been there for six months keeping guard. Occasionally, an angel would come or leave heaven on business, however for the most part, the portal was abandoned. 

He looked again at Sarah, noting the folded skin around her eyes, her gaze focused ahead. They'd spent every day like this, rocking on the porch, overlooking the bayou. Occasionally they would go inside for appearances sake, but mostly they just kept watch, waiting for nothing. 

Sometimes they would talk. It started small; chatting about their previous assignments, or making observations about news that would trickle down to them from those entering or exiting the portal. About a month in, they started reminiscing of older times before the Apocolypse, Castiel or Metatron. Of times when orders came from God. When they felt useful and needed. But, as human as it seemed, when he looked at Sarah, he realized that this task had grown on him. Maybe it was the certainty and structure that had returned to them. Or maybe it was something else. . . 

“I don't really get sick of this,” Sarah said softly. “At times I miss heaven, but this. . . this is good, too.” 

Thomas looked into Sarah's eyes. “Yeah,” he said, “it's good.” 

The light had faded hours ago, and the crickets chirped lazily in the background. Occasionally, there would be a small splashing sound from an animal in the water fifteen feet in front of the porch. Their chairs creaked as they rocked. The night was wholly serene, Thomas noted. 

Until the explosion. 

There was a deafening blast to their right, and immediately, the shed erupted into violent flames soaring towards the sky. Instantly, the two angels were on their feet, weapons drawn. Sarah rushed forward, and before Thomas could think about it, he put a hand on her arm stopping her. She looked back at him questioningly. He ignored it, and went first, sneaking close to the flames, feeling the heat on his vessel's skin. He moved to sneak around back. Sarah lagged behind. He heard the footsteps before he saw the man, he turned around towards them, back towards Sarah. 

He exhaled sharply. Behind Sarah, stood a tall man with a match. Thomas flew to her side quickly, hugging her tightly to his chest, fanning his wings forcefully attempting to extract them both. But he was too late. Instead, almost in slow motion, he watched the match touch the ground, the orange flames licking the dirt in a circular motion, trapping them both inside the circle of holy fire. In the light of the flames, the man's face was illuminated. 

Thomas realized he was still holding Sarah close to him, and he dropped his arms quickly, eyeing the man. “It's Sam Winchester,” he said slowly. 

Suddenly, behind them, a white light flashed from inside the house. The bright rays shot through the window, streaming out, reflecting across the water. It only lasted a second, then was gone. 

Sarah looked deeply into Sam's face, her expression furious. “What have you done?” she whispered. 


	24. Plans and plans

Cas stood behind the tree, watching. He tapped his toe restlessly. He never did like waiting. “C'mon Sam,” he whispered, “this shouldn't be taking this long.” He rubbed the back of his neck, squinting. “Fire two shots away from the house, get in the angel-warded car, and get out of there.” 

He breathed deeply, growing anxious. What was happening? A leaf drifted quietly towards the ground. Cas gripped his angel blade. _Something's not right,_ he thought. He moved to step from behind the tree, when suddenly, the shed exploded. Flames licked toward the sky, waves of heat rippling away, creating a halo of haze around the fire. 

“Damn it, Sam!” he cursed, flying toward the shed in time to see Sam's match falling to the ground, his trap circling around the angels. He started to go to Sam, when he saw it through the window of the house; two angel's exiting heaven's portal, one wearing a woman's vessel, one, a man's. They each had their weapons drawn. 

_They know we're here,_ thought Cas, bracing himself. He immediately flew into the house, landing behind the man. He gripped his weapon tightly, hesitating. Maybe there was another option. But, as he halted, the angel turned, slashing toward Cas, causing him to jump backwards as the blade sliced the front of his shirt. Tiny drops of blood beaded against his now torn clothing. He jumped forward quickly and forcefully returning the blow, sinking his weapon into the angel's chest. Cas watched ruefully as the angel's eyes turned white, his grace expelling in a white flash, lighting up the room and shining through the windows in one last final flare. 

Cas could see Sam through the window. The Winchester turned his head, looking toward his angel companion, his eyes wide in warning, but he didn't see it fast enough. Cas felt a the sharp edge of a blade slip in front of his neck, the cold edge forcing his chin upward. 

“Castiel,” came the woman's voice. “What are you doing here?” 


	25. Hands

Naomi looked both thoughtful and confused. Her eyes were peering down at the floor as if there might be some kind of answer there. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean challenged. 

When she didn't answer, Dean spoke again, his voice more firm, his tone accusing. “Whose, Naomi?” he barked. “Whose memories are inside my freakin' head? What the fuck did you do to us?” He spat the words venomously, expression furious. 

Naomi's attention was turned away. She acted like she didn't hear him. “I don't understand,” she said to herself. 

Dean worked furiously at his restraints, aching to be free. 

Then quickly, Naomi turned to Dean. Dean let his hands fall limply, stopping his struggle, glaring at her. Naomi surveyed him curiously as if the answer might present itself to her. She leaned over Dean, her eyes scanning him intently. Suddenly, her gaze halted. She peered at Dean's shoulder through his shirt, eyebrows raising. Dean's heartbeat increased, as his breath sped up. She slowly reached a hand up to him, fingers finding the hem of his sleeve. 

Dean leaned away, agitated, pulling furiously at his restraints, his wrists beginning to bleed from the friction against the rough material. “What are you doing?” he shouted, frantically. “Don't!” 

But Naomi pulled at the fabric revealing the red scar tissue of Cas's hand print. Dean squirmed in the chair, but Naomi didn't seem to notice. 

“Oh my. . .” she whispered, lifting her hand to place it over the print, turning it to match the outline. Dean felt his skin crawl as he watched her reach towards him, her gaze intense. 

But, before she could touch his skin, Dean spit on her face, stopping her. Surprised, Naomi pulled her hand back, slowly wiping off Dean's saliva. She furrowed her brows, seemingly analyzing their curious exchange, and Dean's hostile response. She waited for a moment, before smiling slightly. 

“I apologize,” she said lightly, pulling Dean's sleeve back down over his scar. She made no further move to touch him, or question him. Instead, unexpectedly, she removed Dean's restraints, allowing him to get up in the chair. 

Tentatively, he sat up and rubbed at his raw and bruising wrists, eyeing Naomi cautiously. She smiled wider, her gaze consuming. “Come with me, Dean,” she stated. “Cas will be here soon.” 


	26. Wings

“Drop it,” the angel said, and Cas let his blade clatter to the ground. He blinked and swallowed, feeling the pressure of the knife tighten against his throat as he did. 

“What are you doing here?” the angel asked again in a familiar voice. Rebekah. He knew her. 

“I-- I'm. . .” Cas started, but Rebekah took a step back, dragging Cas with her, the knife nicking him. 

“Returning to heaven?” she answered for him. Rebekah's chin dipped close to his shoulder, her hair falling against his cheek. She let her tone deepen, her voice foreboding: “You aren't welcome here anymore.” 

Suddenly, Sam was in the room, brandishing his weapon. “Let him go,” he insisted. The silhouettes of the trapped angels hovered over his right shoulder through the window. 

Then, unexpectedly, Rebekah laughed. “Of course,” she muttered bitingly, “I should have known it had something to do with the Winchester brothers.” 

Sam took a step forward, raising his hands up trying to appear non-threatening. “Look, we're just trying to find my brother. We're not here to stir things up.” 

“Is that true?” Rebekah asked bitterly, directing her words to Cas. 

Cas's voice was strained when he replied, his chin still towards the ceiling. “Yes,” he said decidedly. 

Sam walked forward again, and Rebekah made a small incision on Cas's skin as warning. Sam stopped. 

“Why would heaven even have Dean?” she aked slowly, letting the blade inch away slightly. 

Cas relaxed his chin a little, speaking more normally now. “Not heaven,” he corrected, “Naomi.” 

“Naomi?” she contended, “Naomi is dea--” 

“Not dead,” Sam interrupted. “She jumped past her death and came back to heaven with my brother. ” 

There was silence for a moment as this possibility sunk in. Cas looked up as he waited for Rebekah to think. The ceiling had intricate designs carved into it. His eyes followed the carefully laid out arrangement searching for either the beginning or end of it. White lines created fluid patterns over their heads, creating a maze-like symmetry above them guiding the observer to the end. But there wasn't an end. Only walls. 

Cas squeezed his eyes tightly against the forms finding himself breathing more and more frantically. Suddenly, with both hands he grabbed the hand Rebekah used to hold her knife. His blood pumped loudly in his ears and he groaned as he strained to take back control. Yelling, he yanked her hands forward, pulling forcefully until he heard her screaming in pain. She dropped the knife out of her broken hand, but still Cas pulled, until he felt the weight of her flipping over his shoulder and watched her body hammering against the ground. She moaned while he picked up both blades, brandishing them in each hand. He bent one leg, kneeling it against Rebekah's chest, making her wheeze at the force of the newly added weight. 

“Listen to me, Rebekah,” he said darkly, “I don't want to hurt you. But I'm motivated,” His voice started to break, “and desperate.” Cas put the angel blades together crossing them between his hands. He rested them in a v against the other angel's throat. “We have your family,” he said, nodding to the window where Sam's holy fire burned. “Now you are going to help me get mine.” 


	27. Empty

The halls of heaven felt strangely unfamiliar to Cas, though he'd spent millions of years inside them. Beside him, Rebekah walked silently, weaving them in an out of corridors. Occasionally she would place a hand on Cas's chest stopping him while she peered around a corner for trouble. In truth, though, the way was easy. However, as they got deeper into the hold of heaven, Rebekah slowed. Few angels had been to this part of the upstairs. Or at least had, but didn't have an awareness or remembrance of it. Cas wasn't sure at what point he started to take lead, but soon Rebekah was following him as he walked back into the heart of his past nightmares. 

His head swam as he pulled a mental map of the area from his foggy memories. After a few minutes, however, Cas began to recognize the entrance to Naomi's “office.” He let his angel blade fall into his hand, gripping it tightly. He then turned to Rebekah, his face apologetic. 

“I'm so sorry we dragged you into this,” he said. “Go back to Sam. He'll let the other angels free as soon as he sees me with Dean.” 

Rebekah eyed him suspiciously. Cas sighed, “I never wanted to hurt anyone,” he said softly. But then, in a much darker tone: “And yet despite this, if you alert the others of my presence here, you will live to regret it. I've massacred thousands of angels with a blink of an eye, and killed dozens more on Earth. I don't relish hurting angels, but I've come to the conclusion that I excel at it.” 

Then, his head dipped a little,“And enough of you have died,” he said ruefully. 

Rebekah paused, mulling this over. Finally, she gave a tiny nod of consent. Without another word, Cas watched her walk back through the halls to Sam. As she left, Cas felt sick. How many more times would he hurt them? _For Dean_ , he thought. _I'll never stop. Not when it comes to him._

With that thought, he braced himself, opening the door, ready for a fight. Instead he saw an abandoned room. The operating chair sat empty, a small amount of blood on the floor. Cas's jaw clenched when he saw this. 

Though the room was empty, Cas noted a second door left open on the other side of the room. He cautiously walked through it, only to find himself in another hallway. One of the doors here was also left open, as if inviting him, trying to show him the way. Cas began to suspect that he was some kind of mouse being left bits of cheese to guide him through the maze and to the trap at the end. Still, he cautiously followed, walking through open door after open door, thinking of Dean. 

It took him a bit to realize what was happening, but the path laid out for him wasn't arbitrary at all. In fact, after a moment, Cas knew exactly where he was going, and his stomach began to curl. And when he reached the destination, he recognized it. The final door was closed. Cas gripped the handle, breathing more deeply, trying to ready his nerves. 

After a moment, with a sharp inhale, he pushed the door open. White light flooded his senses, and he briefly squinted. But as he adjusted, he looked to the center of the room. And there, unharmed, and clad in plaid was Dean. Cas felt his breath hitch as Dean gave a relieved smile and rushed to Cas, enveloping him in a tight embrace. “Cas,” he whispered gruffly into Cas's shoulder, “you came.” 

Cas reached up, holding Dean tightly to him, eyes closed, relief washing over him. Dean was here. Dean was safe. They were together. Naomi-- suddenly his eyes flung open. “Naomi,” he said breathlessly, coming to. Dean smiled, “gone,” he said reassuringly. “It's just me,” he said, grabbing Cas's free hand hanging down by his side. 

This close Cas could smell Dean, inhaling him with every breath. So close. Dean leaned forward, inching in to kiss Cas, smiling as he went. “It's us,” he said softly. 

Suddenly, Cas put a hand on Dean's chest, pushing him away before they kissed. _Something's not right,_ he thought. 

“What's wrong, Cas?” said Dean, eyebrows scrunched. 

Cas backed away from him, raising his weapon into the air, looking around the room. 

“Cas?” came Dean's voice again, confused. 

Cas looked at Dean coldly, taking another step back, away from him. His breath hitched as he suddenly concluded; “You're not Dean.” 


	28. Souls, Visions and the Lack

“Cas, it's me.” 

Cas held the distance between them, taking full stock of the room. _Where are you, Dean?_

“It's me, Cas.” the impersonator insisted. “Look at me.” He raised his hands in the air gesturing to himself as if to prove that every part of him was identical to Dean that Cas knew. And it was. This made Cas shudder. 

“Look at me,” the stranger said again to Cas, more insistent this time, his voice sounding less and less like Dean. Cas didn't answer the apparition as it began circling around him slowly. “Look at me, Cas,” said the man again. And finally, Cas did. But what stared back at him was not Dean. The man's features were sinister and Dark, and Cas cringed to see the cold look on Dean's face. 

Then, the imposter grinned. “Yes, I should have known you'd remember our time here before,” Dean's form said. “Bring back memories for you, Castiel?” 

Suddenly, a light flashed, and Cas was looking at the grave of hundreds of bloodied Deans on the floor. It only lasted a second then disappeared, but the effect was intense. Cas tightened his jaw, frustrated. Naomi was toying with him again. 

Dean's clone wore a sinister smile. He walked to Cas, leaning in close to him. His voice was low and seductive, making Cas shiver when he finally whispered, “let's play.” 

With those words, Dean's form dissolved away. Suddenly the room started spinning. Cas crouched trying to center himself as the walls whirred around him, making him feel slightly nauseous. 

“Let's take a look at some memories, Castiel,” came Dean's voice. The sound permeated the entire room, causing it to vibrate even as it spun. 

Images appeared on the ceiling, floor and each wall of the room, flooding Cas's vision. Different scenes from Cas's experiences materialized in front of his eyes. Many of them involving Dean, directly or indirectly. But there was something distinct about all of them; they were followed with bright explosions of light as he watched himself kill angel after angel, his voice echoing in the background: “I hunted, I rebelled and I did it, all of it, for you.” 

Cas's breathing increased as he was forced to watch the events again. He shut his eyes against the light, trying to shut out the images. But the sounds continued. 

“What are you?” Dean's voice said, booming from every corner in the room. Then more quietly, dramatically, “a man, or an angel?” 

When Cas opened his eyes, a tear streamed down his face, his hands slightly shaking. He could understand it; why Naomi would want him to see this. She was simply pointing out something that Cas already knew. He'd changed. 


	29. From the inside out

Dean watched Cas, helpless. He rushed to his side putting his hand on Cas's shoulders, wishing Cas could see him. Feel him. But the other man didn't seem to know he was there. Instead, Cas shut his eyes tightly, as if blocking out something painful. A tear streamed down Cas's face, and Dean reached up gently wiping it away with his thumb. _What are you doing to him, Naomi?_ Dean thought. He squeezed Cas's shoulders tighter in response. “I'm here, Cas,” he said desperately, “I'm here.” 

Nothing. Even as he felt Cas beneath his hands, the two men drifted further apart. Cas looked at the ceiling, the walls, everywhere but Dean. Dean growled in frustration, finally falling to his knees, dejectedly. As if in sync with Dean's sentiment, Dean watched Cas kneel, mirroring him. Both men stayed that way, broken on the floor, Cas's trench fanning out around him like a shroud. Then, quietly, Dean looked into Cas's faraway stare, whispering to himself “why do I keep losing you?” 

Suddenly, Naomi was beside them, putting her hand on Dean's shoulder, making him jump. “Because,” she started, answering Dean's private plea, “you two were never meant to be.” 

She said the words with tones of pity, as if she genuinely wished it could be different. “He's of heaven,” she continued, “you're of Earth. There are so few angels left and so few of Castiel's caliber and potential. It's time for the fighting to end. It's time for Castiel to come home.” 

“What if he doesn't want it?” Dean said, looking at the other man, his head hanging, his face looking remorseful. And, even as he said it, panic spread inside his chest as the quiet question posed itself to his mind; _What if he does?_

“Dean,” Naomi continued, unaware of Dean's inner dialogue, “you of all people should understand destiny. Responsibility. How many times has Castiel helped you to save your world? Could you really live with yourself if you kept him away while his was neglected?” 

Dean looked again at Cas, noting the small worry lines on his face. Had they always been there? Dean squeezed his eyes shut. 

“You know,” Naomi said, “I'm coming to realize you're an important part of the equation, though. I'm not sure we could ever hope to get the whole Castiel back,” she paused, “not unless you let him go. Somehow, you've entwined yourself with an angel, Dean. You need to set him free.” 

All at once, what Naomi was saying made Dean think. What was it she had said, earlier? That the memory hadn't been his, but someone else's? Dean opened his eyes, raising his sleeve, looking at the scar on his arm where Cas's grace had touched him. And he thought of his dreams, Cas whispering Enochian in his ear, his brain recalling memories he didn't have in order to make sense of the ones that were gone. The memories he lost. Just like Cas. 

Suddenly, it all started to make sense. He looked up at Naomi, still holding his sleeve up, revealing Cas's hand print. “You figured it out,” he said slowly, his voice breathless, “back in the chair, you knew. You figured it out. . . ” Naomi looked at him without speaking, her silence a confirmation that she understood what he meant. Then he breathed deeply, letting the realization dawn on him in thick waves. He wondered briefly why it had taken him so long to see it. To realize it. 

Finally, he said it out loud, looking again at Cas, feeling a sense of newfound depth between them; “Some of Cas's grace is inside me.” 


	30. Fire

Sam paced outside the circle of fire, cautiously glancing at the house. He ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. Cas had left him to guard, and it felt lacking. He tapped his foot, turning back to his two captives. Sam noted them with preoccupied curiosity. For angels they were unique. Instead of selecting young, flashy vessels, their bodies were older, showing the wear of a very human life he was sure had not been experienced by them. Ironically, they looked the way Sam had always imagined angels to be before he had actually met one: wise, paternal, safe. Even as they stood trapped inside the holy fire, they didn't look like victims. Both angels stood tall like yellow tinted statues, the firelight glowing in their purposeful eyes. 

“It won't be long,” Sam finally said to them, as if it were some attempt at consolation for their predicament. 

The angels didn't respond at first, acting as if they hadn't heard him. Sam began walking, removing himself in small measures from the heat of the fire, sitting on the steps of the porch. Then, suddenly Thomas took a small step forward. “Until?” he asked. 

“What?” asked Sam, lifting his head. 

Thomas stopped close to the flames, a small streak of sweat trickling from his forehead. “It won't be long until what?” he asked, his voice firm, one arm slightly stretched behind him. He shifted and Sam noticed the reason why. Behind him, Sarah reached, lacing her fingers through Thomas's, letting him pull her slightly forward. 

Sam looked at the two people in front of him, his perspective changing. _Until what?_ he thought to himself, repeating the angel's question. Until Cas got back? Until Dean did? Until they didn't need them anymore? What then? 

Thomas positioned himself diagonally, his body shielding Sarah as if to insulate her from any sudden movements Sam might make. And he recognized the expression. He saw it in his eyes, in his posture, in the very way he spoke; Fear. Fear for her. 

Sam hung his head, unable to look at them, his voice raw when he spoke. He watched the firelight flicker over his hands, his skin disappearing into blackness in between each flash of golden light. 

Finally he said, “Until it's over.” 


	31. Her story

“How did this happen?” Dean asked, and Naomi saw him examine his hands like he might be able to see through his skin to the small amount of power pulsing inside him. Unconsciously, Naomi did the same. But there was no imagery to go along with the astonishing revelation. Just the calloused opaque skin of his hands. 

“It explains the memory loss,” she said to him. “When I. . . adjusted Castiel's memories, I did more than just modify his psyche. To make the changes permanent, I had to alter his grace.” Dean watched Cas as Naomi spoke, but she knew he was listening acutely to every word she said. 

“It may have taken time,” she explained, “but the grace inside you responded to its host, altering your memory in the same way it did his,” She nodded at Cas. 

Dean looked at the other man as if to peer through the invisible barrier that separated them. But it wasn't an isolation of physical sorts, it was a prison of the mind. Her mind. This room was something special to Naomi, and in here she wasn't simply an angel. She was God. In this place, she created and destroyed while the room's recipients hung in the balance of her ideas. Here she watched curiously, able to see what Castiel saw, though Dean could not. Cas was still kneeling on the ground and carefully, Naomi nudged his visions to display his time possessed with the souls of purgatory. He groaned as the ground portrayed the shadowed remains of thousands of wings paired with blank faced dead angels. 

Naomi recalled the first time she had tinkered inside of Castiel's head right after she'd plucked him from purgatory. She'd watched the recap of the two men's time inside the bowels of hell with interest. Naomi felt Cas's admiration for Dean as he fought tirelessly to get the two of them out together, all the while experiencing the guilt and shame of feeling unworthy of Dean's devotion; knowing that his visions of a life together would never be reality. 

Naomi remembered her surprise at how potent and visceral the feelings inside of Cas's head felt. She, herself had only viewed this from the outside. In humans. But Cas was different. Most angels possessed a sense of duty, of living within the margin for the sake of the collective whole. But what of outliers? Metatron. Satan. Castiel. They were different. They were dangerous. And yet, in all her desire to stop history from repeating itself, Naomi couldn't bring herself to end him. _I'm not the monster they think I am,_ Naomi thought to herself acknowledging the sentiment she felt toward Castiel. The man's face ached with self doubt and guilt, and she felt remorse at subjecting him to his pain. 

But her actions weren't about desire, they were about outcome. Heaven was a business, and though many others failed to see this, Naomi had fully integrated herself with this reality. For the survival of the collective whole, sacrifices had to be made. Their home was dying and they needed a strong presence to hold it together. Heaven might not know it yet, but they needed Castiel. And it was clear that erasing his memories hadn't been enough to return him to them fully. He needed to break free. 

Naomi tugged lightly at the thread between her and the dark haired angel, feeling his mind between them. The fact that she had ties to her victims was a curious outcome of her work that few expected, including herself. Castiel wasn't the only angel she had linked minds with, but he had been the last. It wasn't an intense feeling, but rather a small sensation in the back of her head. As she'd explored each angel, it had left a sort of linking imprint on her. Not powerful, but there. She looked at Dean's hand print still exposed under his sleeve. _No, not like that,_ she thought to herself. Whatever was happening between them was something unique, remarkable and disturbing. It defied angelic history to have a man carry an angel's grace. But here Dean was, kneeling in front of Castiel like a mirror, Cas's power having claimed Dean as its own. 

Naomi peered at Castiel, seeing his regret growing. _It's time,_ she thought. She abruptly ended Cas's isolation, dissolving the barrier between the two men, making Dean visible again to Cas. _Make the right choice, Castiel,_ she pleaded. 


	32. Demons Don't Just Dwell in Hell

If Castiel could dream, he imagined he'd have had this nightmare a thousand times. _That's what people do, right?_ he mused, _use fantasies inside their mind to unravel the real horrors outside of it._ And though he'd remembered this day, like a dream, it didn't hold the impact of the actual scene he now faced. He looked over the charred remains of each set of wings, trying not to look at the empty eyed faces attached to them. His chest ached, though he wasn't sure if the pain was actually physical or not. The sadness overwhelmed him, and for a moment, he thought back to his conversation with Dean about his fear that if he saw the destruction in heaven, he might consider killing himself. And now he knew it wasn't an overreaction. 

Cas strained to breathe as he stared from his perch on the floor. _You need to keep it together,_ he reminded himself, _for Dean._ He straightened a little as he thought this, knowing that Dean was somewhere beyond Naomi's mind games. And Dean was the reason for all of it. He always would be. 

Then, as if Naomi could hear him, she conjured up another image of Dean to torment Cas. But curiously, this Dean knelt uncharacteristically on the floor in the same position as Cas, his expression pained. Cas simply blinked, bracing himself for his next round of psychological waterboarding. 

But the imposter didn't move. He simply stared at Castiel, his expression pained. He reached up, cupping Cas's face, but looking through him, almost as if he didn't realize Cas could see him. _What are you trying to accomplish this time?_ Cas thought, jerking his head away from the soft touch. But instead of a sneer, imposter Dean's eyes flew open at Cas's sudden movement, looking surprised. 

“You can see me?” Dean said, breathlessly. The illusion looked relieved that Cas knew he was there. Elated, even. 

Cas simply stared at him, emotionless. “Of course I can,” he said dully, berating himself slightly for even talking to the projection. _Because really, I'm just talking to Naomi,_ he reminded himself. 

Imposter Dean's eyebrows creased, looking confused. “Wha—” he started, then his expression changed. “No, Cas, it's me,” he said. “I don't know what Naomi has been doing to you, but I'm not in your head,” he said fervidly, reaching forward toward Cas again. “I'm real!” 

Cas began pulling back, but as he did, he suddenly noticed Dean's wrist. He grabbed it, examining the bruising across the skin which looked like the marks from a restraint. He eyed Dean's face, noting a small streak of blood on the side of his cheek. He immediately thought of the patch of red on the floor of Naomi's office. And Dean's face lit up as if he realized what Cas was doing. He held up both wrists for examination. “She put me in her chair,” he said slowly. Then his eyes locked with Cas's, his expression pleading. “It's me,” he said quietly, “I'm here.” Cas stared at Dean's desperate expression, seeking for clues of Dean's authenticity. 

And though Cas wasn't sure why, as he stared into Dean's eyes, suddenly he just knew. He _felt_ it. Hurriedly, he pulled Dean towards him, holding him tightly to him in relief. _It's him,_ he thought, _It's him, it's him._ It was as if for a moment he forgot where he was, about Naomi, about heaven, about the images of death all around them. Dean was safe. They were together. But, when he opened his eyes again, it was those same images that caused Cas to panic. “Don't look, Dean,” he wanted to say. “Please, don't look at them!” he felt himself burning to scream. Instead, he swallowed his words deep down and watched as Dean pulled away from their hug, cognizant, for the first time, of the dismal scene that surrounded them. Dean's eyes scanned quickly from body to body, and as he looked, Cas felt exposed. Raw. Naked. 

For all the death that Dean had seen, and had himself wrought, Cas knew, from instinct, that Dean had never seen anything quite like this. Black shadows lay like bruises across the landscape, flies collecting at the carnage. Cas painfully recalled what this section of heaven had looked like before, with kite's flying in the wind, accompanied by the calming presence of the man with autism. He used to visit there for peace. But he had damaged it, just like everything else in heaven. 

And now Dean knew. True, Cas had told him of the destruction he'd caused, but being told about it, and seeing it are two very different experiences. Now, though, Dean truly saw as he viewed the blackest bits of Cas. Cas's head sunk to his chest, shame spreading through him. _Now Naomi will have her ending_ , he thought. And he couldn't even look at Dean. 

The longest moments stretched in that time period as he waited for Dean to react. To say something. To retract from Cas's darkness. To leave. Instead, Cas felt a finger lightly snake under his chin, lifting it so the two men were making eye contact. Then, Dean grabbed both of Cas's hands in his, and where Cas expected to see revulsion, there was love. Understanding. _You loved me when I was a monster,_ his face seemed to say. Then, Dean reached up and placed a tender kiss on Cas's forehead. “I love you,” he said, finally pulling back. 


	33. Home

Cas felt himself fall into Dean's words like coming home; something he had often wondered if he'd ever have again. But here Dean was, begging Cas to come to him. Dean had said “I love you,” twice now, and though Cas was sure that Dean knew how he felt, he couldn't seem to say it out loud. It was ironic, he thought, that in spite of Dean's emotionally stunted background, it was Dean teaching Cas how to feel. It had always been that way, though, he supposed. From the moment he descended in heavenly fury to hell to seize Dean's soul, he had changed. It took a while to recognize, but there was something new inside of him. Something that despite millions of years worth of experiences, he had never grasped; a sense of humanity. Because of Dean. And it was the most liberating success he had ever accomplished; allowing himself to pretend to be human. 

“I want this,” Cas said, squeezing Dean's hands, holding too tight, closing his eyes, but still somehow feeling Dean's smile when he said it. But immediately Cas felt a searing pain in his head. He bent over, clutching his temples, and could vaguely feel Dean putting his hand on his back in confusion. 

In his mind, Naomi's accusing voice came; “Who do you love, Cas _?” Dean,_ he thought in reply, his head pounding. But the pain only lasted a second, and Cas opened his eyes in time to see Naomi appear in the room, walking quickly towards Dean and Cas, her face furious. Both men stood in response, stances readied, but she didn't move to hurt them. Instead, she got close to Cas, her voice livid. “You selfish bastard,” she spat. “Do you know what I love, Castiel? I love heaven. And when you love something, you advocate for them. Even when they won't willingly do it for themselves.” 

Her voice started to lose fire as she talked, becoming more desperate. “How can you leave when your family is in crisis?” she said. “How can you abandon the place that has been a part of you for millions of years, only to replace it with a breath's worth of time with one man?” 

And Cas felt the question pierce his chest. Deep down, he felt it reverberate to his core. He'd fought countless battles for heaven, securing God's will. But what of heaven without a leader? Was Naomi calling him to be one? But why? How could he, of all the angels, guide heaven? He wasn't a leader, he was in a constant state of free fall, his only point of reference being Dean. He not only wanted humanity, he craved it. 

“I don't belong here,” he said to Naomi, “not anymore.” 

But Naomi wasn't looking at Cas, she was looking at Dean as if he were a disease that was infiltrating Cas's mind. _No, we did that to_ him _,_ Cas thought, _not the other way around._

“You're an angel,” she said, her eyes not moving from Dean. “You don't belong anywhere else.” 

He looked at Dean, seeing his green eyes pleading with Cas to stay with him. _Home,_ he thought again. _I belong with Dean._ And at that moment, he considered his grace pumping inside him. His last vestige of heaven, and he felt that he was finally ready to be done. To let it all go. To fall. 

But just then, as if he had been reading Cas's mind, Dean suddenly started talking frantically, as if afraid that Naomi might try to silence him. “It's inside me!” he yelled, “your grace, it's inside me!” Cas watched Naomi's expression darken. 

_It's impossible,_ thought Cas, and yet, he still found himself reaching out to Dean with his grace, tugging at it, exploring its depths. And to Cas's surprise, it didn't take long before he found it. Inside Dean, he located a small river of grace, pulsing through Dean's veins as if it were his own blood. _My god,_ Cas thought, astonished. _It's been there all along._


	34. Two

Naomi's face confirmed it to Cas. She had known about the grace before he had, and somehow that stung. She looked from Cas to Dean frantically blinking, leaning forward. Her breathing increased and her gaze landed on Dean. She took a step forward. “No!” she spat, “It will not end like this.” Both men leapt to their feet as Naomi lunged at Dean. They backed up, and around them, the massacred angels on the floor disappeared, and the room started darkening in unison with Naomi's face. 

Cas looked at Dean, seeing his grace inside, feeling it for the first time. He reached over and lifted up Dean's sleeve revealing Cas's pink-red brand on Dean's shoulder, another piece of him left behind. _We're bonded,_ Cas thought. _We're bonded. . ._ And suddenly, his eyes brightened. He turned towards Dean, steadying himself, then leaned in close to Dean's ear. “Do you trust me?” he whispered. Dean nodded, his face steady. 

With that, Cas reached forward, placing his hand in the grooves of Dean's scar, aligning his fingers with the marked flesh. He felt the rough impressions where his hand had burned Dean. Immediately, his fingers tingled with heat. _Here goes nothing,_ he thought. Cas took a deep breath. And, with a heavy exhale, Cas pushed his grace towards Dean, pulling its twin stream inside Dean's body towards him. He closed his eyes, his skin prickling at the sensation as he moved the two sources of light towards each other, willing them to join. Quickly the waves of grace surged together like magnets, racing towards their opposite charge, hungry to reunite. 

“No, no, no. . .” came Naomi's voice, her footsteps coming closer as she realized what Cas was doing. But she was too late. In a moment of pure impact, the two wells of grace merged like an atom bomb, and the affect was astronomical. A crash of power exploded, sending waves of light erupting through the room, inundating them. Naomi screamed. Cas opened his eyes. 

Everything was white. Dean's green eyes were lit with light, causing them to glow eerily in their sockets. His skin appeared translucent and luminous. Cas glanced at his own hands, noticing a similar effect. But it wasn't just what they looked like, it was a feeling was of endless power. Equipped with grace, he'd always felt the sense of strength that accompanied it, but here, sharing his grace between them, it was somehow amplified. It coursed through the two of them as if they were one, merging, and the energy continued to build, increasing in volume, pulling them together. 

And then it happened. All at once, the thin barrier between them snapped. Cas closed his eyes at the violent weight of it, holding his breath against the current of reckless power. The force nearly ripped him apart before it finally settled, cutting his mind free. 

It took a moment before Cas could orient himself. In stark contrast to the moments before, he was surrounded by pitch black. Not he. They. He wasn't one person anymore, he was two. He felt Dean's consciousness wrap around him and through him. He felt what he felt, saw what he saw. Cas tried again to acclimate to his surroundings, holding on to the sense of Dean in his mind. _Where are we?_ he questioned, attempting to peer through the veil of complete darkness that shrouded them. But his thought was cut off as he suddenly noted that the lack of light was the least of their concerns. Cas attempted to brace himself, noting the breeze sweeping upward on his cheeks. A strong force pushed beneath his feet, intensely. 

And tightening in panic, he realized what was happening; the two of them were falling. Fast. 


	35. Falling, falling, falling

The air whipped against Dean's skin roughly and the darkness only served to heighten the sensation. Cas was here with him. That much he knew. Dean could feel him inside his mind, and marveled that they were finally joined in every way that mattered. Somehow, he realized that they would never be closer than they were at that moment, fused to each other by light and consciousness. And now, together they fell, careening through the darkness, deeper and deeper into the abyss. 

_How?_ he wondered. Had Cas released his grace? Is this what it's like for an angel to fall? 

_For a moment I was God,_ he recalled. No. They'd both been been Gods. The two men were no longer an angel and a human, they had both become something in-between, or perhaps above it all. Dean recalled the way that Cas's form had glowed then exploded in a final burst of power before abandoning them to darkness. 

He reached out for that sense of power again, wondering if it were gone. But, to his surprise, it was still there, pulsing in the shadows under his skin while the two men plunged deeper and deeper. _If Cas's grace is still here, then why are we falling?_ he questioned, trying to hold his panic at bay. 

But it was only moments before his answer came. Slowly, colors began to emerge from the darkness, heat crawling from below, licking at his skin. Red and orange light rose from the depths, illuminating the darkness in hazy dim bursts of color. 

Then the sounds came, hollow and wretched, burning his ears as acutely as the heat. Suddenly in panic, he realized where they were. “Not here,” he said, his breathing sharp. “No Cas, not here, not again.” 

Dean reached for Cas, gripping him tightly, Cas reciprocating in understanding, holding Dean to him. But, surprisingly, the further they fell, the more Dean started to sense serenity coming from Cas. Cas's demeanor had flipped from one of panic, to calm. “It's going to be alright,” he said, reassuringly. 

“How do you know that, Cas?” asked Dean, his skin crawling. 

Cas's face was becoming clearer and clearer in the golden light from the depths, and at the moment, Dean noted Cas's calm expression. 

“Because,” Cas said, his face close to Dean's, “I think we're going back to the beginning.” 


	36. All of Us

Rebekah wasn't sure why she walked so slowly back to heaven's portal despite the fact that her next courses of action screamed of importance: get back to the portal, free Sarah and Thomas, stop Castiel. 

Stop Castiel. 

The thought bounced around inside her head, begging for attention. Her mind drifted to the dark-haired soldier she'd known for thousands of years, and she came to the conclusion that the man she had just spoken with wasn't Castiel. 

_So, who are you, now?_ she wondered, thinking of his recent threat to her: _“_ _I don't relish hurting angels, but I've come to the conclusion that I excel at it.”_

_Castiel,_ she thought, _what has happened to you?_ _When did we become the enemy?_ And thinking it hurt. More than she'd even allowed herself to acknowledge before; While the other angels spoke of Castiel in derision, somewhere, secretly, a part of her pretended it wasn't true. 

It's not that she knew him well. True, she'd spent thousands of years with Castiel, but heaven wasn't a place for human-like relating with one another. Especially between soldiers like Castiel and herself. But, in a secret, deep part of her, she'd noted that there had always been a spark about Castiel she'd admired. He was different, even if she couldn't figure out how. And, until now, she'd never had to explore that tiny realization. But, when Rebekah had looked at Castiel as he'd spoken, she'd seen something that only caused her further confusion. In his eyes, she'd seen regret. 

_If you really don't want to hurt us,_ she thought, _then why do you keep doing it?_ But, she already knew the answer. All of heaven did. He'd chosen Dean. And tonight, Rebekah had brandished a knife against her comrades neck and told him he was no longer welcome in heaven. 

_He betrayed us,_ she thought, _it should be simple._ But somehow, it wasn't. Nothing had been for the angels. Not in a long time. And so she walked slowly to rescue Sam's captives, letting her mind explore a foreign feeling creeping up into her chest. A feeling of uncertainty. 


	37. Hell

The first thing Dean noticed was the lightening. It flashed in angry streaks in random patterns seemingly coming from no place at all. Then there were the fires, spreading out and fanning through scores of screaming crowds of flesh. The sound was both intoxicating and terrifying, and it gave Dean chills. 

Cas held him, but it was only a small consolation as their destination came closer and closer into view. When they were just miles above, Dean smelled the stench of Hell, bringing back memories to his mind. He glanced at his arm, noticing his scar. Dean's sleeve had fallen over it again, but he could see the imprint shining through the fabric, glowing brighter and brighter as they got closer to hell. 

But Dean couldn't question it. Instead, in a dramatic entrance, the two men careened toward a lake of fire. 

_I wish you'd never saved me,_ Dean thought, as he approached the inferno looking at Cas's innocent face, streaked with orange light, _you don't deserve this._

But when they landed, the fire waved innocently through their bodies as if it were a hologram. And Dean breathed. _Another memory,_ he thought, sighing. He should have known. The two men walked from the fire like a biblical miracle, and Dean explored his memory. Dark, burning flesh surrounded them, the misery of souls almost tangible. As he tasted the gritty air in his mouth and felt the crunch of ash and silt beneath them, he had to remind himself it wasn't real. 

Because it felt very real. And Dean realized he had been holding his breath. _I'm not really here,_ he reminded himself. But even still, the darkness clung to him as if he'd never left. 

“Why are we here, Cas?” Dean asked, his voice breathless. 

But Cas didn't answer back. Instead, he looked around questioningly at their surroundings, brows furrowed, as if gathering clues or data. 

Dean stopped. Suddenly he couldn't walk. _Of course they ended up back here,_ he thought bitterly. _An angel and a demon engaging in a relationship. It's every religion's worst nightmare._

He tugged at his shirt collar as if it were the cause of his lack of oxygen, noting briefly how brightly his hand print shone in the dark of Hell. _Why here?_ he thought, questioning Cas's grace as if it could speak to him. 

But then he felt Cas's warm hand grab his, squeezing it reassuringly, and Dean felt a sense of Calm resonate between them. 

And Dean used Cas's touch to ground him. _Maybe this was always meant to be,_ Dean thought, acknowledging how right it felt to have Cas's presence as he faced his demons. _He is light and I am dark. I am the righteous man and he is the fallen angel. And now we are both Gods._

And together they walked through Hell, Dean bracing himself to face his biggest challenge of all; 

In front of him was a Dark, monstrous creature slicing into another soul with a frenzied look on his face. In front of him was a man who had fallen, and had yet to be saved by his angel. 


	38. My soul

Dean's memory smiled viciously as he brandished a knife, drawing it down the man's stomach carefully watching the red current spill out to the floor in slow designs like a chocolate fountain. He crossed that incision with another, making a “t” across the man's chest. Memory Dean's eyes glossed over as he pulled at the skin, opening him up. 

Dean watched in horror, and Cas squeezed his hand in reassurance. “Why do we need to see this?” Dean asked, watching himself start to work on the man's inside, listening to his screams as if they were background music. The firelight played against Dean's form, illuminating the glossy sheen of his hands coated in blood, working meticulously to extract the sickly notes from each cry, like a directing a gruesome orchestra. 

Dean closed his eyes tightly against the image. Against the sounds. He wanted more than anything to free himself from having to acknowledge this part of himself. If Cas had felt shame for his small crimes in heaven, how must he view Dean's atrocities? He looked at Cas's calm face with wonder. _Cas has already seen this,_ he marveled. And he is still here. 

And Dean didn't know why, but he suddenly felt a strong desire to act on the reason he assumed he was there. It was time for Dean to face himself. 

Dean walked closer, his feet heavy. And, with all the bravery he could muster, he looked himself in the eyes. No moment in hell or on earth felt as long. It was like looking into the eyes of a stranger and someone that knew him better than anyone else at the same time. Knowledge poured from his past soul to himself, the answers coming faster than the questions. 

And, the understanding that lay there surprised him. He looked to Cas, and his face said he'd seen it too. Dean's soul was mangled and torn. It had been damaged with thirty years worth of torture. His face was dark with shadows and his mind twisted with pain and darkness. And Dean should have realized, better than anyone, that when you were on the rack, it was more than just physical suffering. And now that Cas's light and grace pumped through him, it was even more apparent. To be a Demon is a sickness, an absence of self. _Your soul is your light,_ Dean thought. _And they fractured mine._

“You were a victim,” Cas said, looking at Dean without judgment. 

And Dean looked at the man's twisted expression on the table, feeling nauseous. “We all were,” he said. 

Dean kept watching his past self relish in dissecting the other man's soul. “It's not an excuse,” he said, feeling the sadness and remorse creeping in. 

“No,” said Cas's calm voice, “but maybe it's enough to leave this story behind.” 

Dean exhaled deeply, gritting his jaw. _I deserve punishment,_ he thought. _Right_? The man screamed again in the background. 

_Whose forgiveness am I waiting for?_ he wondered. He looked at Cas. _His_ angel, who viewed him so lovingly. Dean himself had been able to see beyond Cas's sins in heaven. Was that how Cas viewed him now? 

Swallowing deeply, Dean said in argument “this is unforgivable,” as he gestured toward his grisly work. 

And Cas nodded, agreeing. It was unforgivable. “Sometimes we have to face the truth and try anyway,” he said. Dean looked at him, questioningly, reading Cas's face. _Let me rescue you from yourself,_ it said. 

Dean hesitated. The fire around him burned hot, the memory as real as if it were five minutes ago, not years. Maybe it _was_ time to let go. Maybe it didn't serve anyone to keep part of himself here, he acknowledged. 

And, to his surprise, he found himself nodding, squeezing Cas's hand back. He didn't deserve this, or his angel. _But today,_ he thought, _maybe I can let myself have it anyway._

In response, the sky ripped open, a bright light crashing through the darkness. The lightening flashed, thunder drowning out the screams for a moment before the outline of angel wings started coming into view. Dean marveled at the sight. 

It was time for Cas to save Dean's soul again. 

_Only this time,_ Dean thought, _I'm not coming back._


	39. To See

Cas watched himself tearing through hell's tumultuous skyline towards Dean. Saving Dean was one memory that had always been preserved clearly in Cas's mind. But now he could see it; the gargantuan wings spanning from his angelic form, and his determined face—a soldier on a mission. 

Swiftly he fell, lightening spreading in broken cracks around his frame. And his power. It was visible, and visceral. The image spoke of the formidable force that heaven once was; The unstoppable hurricane of righteous endeavor. 

Cas watched the scene while simultaneously remembering it from his original perspective, merging the two together. He looked at past Dean remembering the pain he had seen there. And he remembered wanting to pull this man away from the darkness. Desperately. And so he plummeted towards his future, never knowing the full impact of that moment. How his life would change. 

And finally, he reached Dean. He laid a hand on his shoulder, and everything stopped. Cas's form was halted in the air, his hand gripping Dean's flesh, the two men frozen in time. Merging. And at that moment, Cas wondered if his grace had a life of it's own. Pulling them through their story like its own consciousness. After all, it was a power of light. A power to heal. And this was an important moment of origin for the two of them. And Cas suspected they needed to come back here, to heal the damage of years. To heal from Naomi. To start fresh. Emerging from hell again in one piece. 

And so, he and Dean walked up to their frozen forms, stopping just before them. Cas looked at Dean who clearly understood, too. They both reached forward with their free hands, clenching each others tightly with the other ones. And they touched the memory. 

* * * 

Dean's hand touched the shoulder of his past self, and suddenly his mind gave way. He remembered the times he told Cas how much he loved him. He remembered anxiously waiting for Sam to go to bed so he could sneak Cas into his room to talk. He remembered their disagreements and the relief he felt whenever they worked it out. 

Dean recalled Cas's quiet laugh when he had pulled one out of him for the first time. It was pure, quiet and sweet, and Dean became addicted, trying over and over to repeat the event, usually unsuccessfully, but rewarding it with a passionate kiss when he succeeded. 

He remembered Cas. How much he grew to love him. He idolized Cas's shy smiles when he was proud of something human he'd accomplished. And the squint-eyed looks Cas gave whenever something baffled him. Even the cold, furious stare when Dean would push Cas's buttons, which he did often, sometimes just to get that look. 

And he remembered listening to Cas's stories about history, about heaven. And how Dean had found himself wanting to understand his angel from every angle. Emotionally. Physically. He never got tired of any of it. 

And it had been ripped away. 

But now, he looked at Cas like he'd finally gotten him back. Because he had. For good. 

* * * 

And Cas felt it too. Any part of Dean that Naomi had seized was now his again. Dean's smile. His jokes that Cas never seemed to understand. Dean making him watch different movies, then watching Cas expectantly for reactions that he never seemed to get right. Dean's laugh. The way Dean was always sneakily helping Sam or Cas by cooking, cleaning or fixing Cas's tie and hair. 

He had back every memory of Dean's hands, and how they had become precious to him. He held them. Studied them, drawing his fingers across the lines on his palm, letting them sink into his memory. How the rough spots were contrasted by the smooth ones, telling Cas stories about Dean's life that he had missed out on. 

And finally, the last memory fell into place, coming to him in full. His mind raced back to the night at the motel room when he'd whispered in Dean's ear, the words coming back to him. The memory was potent, the moment speaking of importance. And slowly, he watched his mouth form warm, soft words, Enochian spilling from him in deep, thick waves. 

_I'll always come,_ he said, one hand resting in the groove of Dean's scar. _Because I love you._

And Cas realized. In the entirety of his existence, in his span of millions of years worth of biblical events and fighting, he'd never said those words before. To anyone. And this was the moment he'd finally become human. And he'd done it for Dean. 


	40. Family

Sam's head was still resting in his hands as he sat on the porch. He heard footsteps behind him, and he sprung up, turning. It was Rebekah. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized she was alone. 

She stopped a few feet from Sam, weaponless, looking rather less formidable than she had when she'd had Cas in her grips earlier. In fact, her anger seemed to have drained away, leaving her with a strange expression on her face that Sam couldn't read. 

In his hand, Sam felt the weight of the angel blade Cas had given him before he'd entered the portal. Rebekah's blade. He saw her eyes flick to it momentarily before resting again on his face. 

Sam squared his shoulders. 

“Cas?” he asked, desperation creeping into the name. 

Rebekah didn't answer right away, squinting. “Why do you call him that?” she asked, her voice contemplative. 

Sam ignored her: “Did you see my brother?” 

Rebekah looked at the ring of holy fire still burning brightly, encircling Sarah and Thomas. Their figures lit up with the orange of the flames, and Sam briefly noted it was strange to call something holy that could imprison God's elite. 

“He sent me to wait with you while he helps Dean escape,” she said. Then, sighing, she sat on the porch steps where Sam had been only a moment before, the old wood creaking from the added weight. 

“Why do you call him Cas?” she asked again. “when his name is Castiel. . .” 

Sam furrowed his eyebrows. _What is she playing at?_ he thought. He glanced towards heaven's portal suspiciously, but it appeared that she was indeed alone. 

“It's a nickname,” he said, cautiously. “A sign of closeness, I guess.” 

Rebekah glanced at him curiously, her elbows resting on her knees, making her seem smaller. She waited before talking, then finally said: “And do you feel close to Castiel?" 

Sam eyed her curiously. Whatever he had expected Rebekah to say to him, this wasn't it. He looked at Sarah and Thomas holding hands and then again at Rebekah. Heaven seemed to have a way of continually surprising him. 

“Yes,” he said in all seriousness. “Cas is my family.” 

Rebekah analyzed Sam, searching his sincerity. But, after a moment, she stopped as if she'd seen his truth in it, nodding to let it sink in. 

Then, shifting, she pushed her shoes forward into the dirt, letting her toes frost with brown. She unbuttoned the top button of her shirt, loosening the collar with her fingers while Sam watched, noting the casual demeanor she was taking on. He glanced at the house, feeling uncomfortable. 

“Do you know most of us wear suits?” she asked. “When we're not taking on another persona, that is.” She nodded toward Sarah and Thomas's plain apparel as explanation of the exception to the rule. 

“But besides that, most angels you see look more like executives than messengers of God,” she continued. She took off her suit jacket and laid it carefully on the steps next to her before slowly rolling up her sleeves. “Do you know why that is?” she asked. 

Sam shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to the next trying to figure out Rebekah's game. But Thomas and Sarah looked equally perplexed by her monologue. And as the silence stretched, Rebekah must have taken Sam's hesitation for an answer. 

“Uniformity.” She said. “Unity. We are a cause. A purpose.” Her eyes glistened slightly in the firelight and Sam noticed her glance at Sarah and Thomas's hands grasping together. _Why is she telling me this?_ Sam thought. 

“Cas is your family. . .” she mused to herself so quietly that Sam could barely hear it. “How does that even happen?” 

Then, a light breeze came, whistling against their skin and she looked up at Sam, and in all seriousness she said “Heaven is a force. An army. But I'm not sure we were ever a family.” 


	41. The beginning

Cas's mind was split between his two realities—the one he remembered that excluded his past memories of Dean and the new consciousness that included them in every detail. He swam in-between both existences in wonder that there was ever a space where Dean didn't dominate his world. Where he wasn't a part of Cas's present and future. Where Dean didn't love him, too. And he immediately regretted the lost moments, hours and months where they were apart emotionally. But even that feeling was overshadowed by the overwhelming relief he felt at realizing that never needed to be the case again. 

And in this state of mind, his grace drawn forward both from himself and the man he loved, he realized that they were, at this moment, an origin point of extreme power. He could feel it, see it, taste it. And this opened up new lines of revelation for him. In this state, Cas detected for the first time, a long thin line of energy drawing out from his body. So, he followed it. It took him back through hell and the abyss of falling to where it landed, plugging into Naomi's grace where she lay unconscious on heaven's floor. He exhaled in surprise. 

“Are you seeing this, Dean?” he asked through his vision of heaven. He felt Dean pulsing beside him and reached out to him with his consciousness. 

“I see it,” said Dean, sounding equally surprised. 

They looked at Naomi's sleeping form and Cas wondered at how fragile and small she seemed to him for the very first time. Her face, which usually was taught and creased with lines lay smooth and soft as her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. Her hair had fallen out and lay scattered around her head looking, ironically, like a carefree halo. Even the top button of her shirt had come undone making her look younger than usual. 

_She looks so tired,_ thought Cas, and he could relate. He remembered the push of the angelic calling: service, devotion, and sacrifice that often ended in death. _What even are we as a species?_ he wondered, thinking of the angels he'd known for endless amounts of time, powerful beyond measure yet having little understanding of what that actually means. 

He moved himself closer in increments to Naomi, following their connective thread and finally, when he reached her, he slowly reached forward to the source. And, with a deep breath, he pushed inside her mind. 

Cas quickly found himself glad that Dean was having the same experience that he was, because when he saw the glowing tangled web inside Naomi's mind, he felt overwhelmed by just how many soul threads lay there. They intertwined inside her like a knotted ball of yarn, hundreds of thin lines of light erupting from her in every direction. Each leading to a victim of her crimes of duty. 

And Cas felt pity. Because, he realized, she'd only hurt others in the name of heaven. Was he so different? 

_Where is the purity?_ he wondered. How had God intended them? To be a massive unit of destructive force to keep the humans in line? Then to forget about it? He suddenly realized the weight of Naomi's burden. To see every Angel's potential for both good and bad and to make them forget it all, leaving them innocent again and childlike while she held the angel's atrocities back from them like an ocean dike. She shielded each angel from responsibility. Not out of love or caring towards them, Cas conceded, but certainly out of a devotion to heaven. And Cas thought at that moment that perhaps she might be both heaven's most misguided and most loyal servant. 

_What was it Naomi had said about Dean?_ he thought, _That he was a symbol of heaven's gift to mankind to govern one's self?_ And Cas realized that this wasn't a gift that had been extended to heaven's angels: the ability to live freely in accordance with their choices, becoming accountable for their own achievements and mistakes. But Cas thought of Dean. _I've chosen free will,_ he thought, and it's made all the difference. And with that, he reached forward, tugging at his own thread to heaven's will and pulled. 

With a thin pop, the cord Cas tugged on snapped. The connection was small, but the release was enormous. Immediately, Cas was connected with who he was in every sense of the word. He remembered it all, and again, he marveled that there were ever pieces of him that were missing. He breathed deeply as he watched the purge in Egypt and the deaths of the flood, realizing he played a part in it all and as he remembered, Dean saw it too. But this time, he reminded himself that every piece of the puzzle made him more like Dean. Because humans took broken things and made them beautiful again. And maybe the two of them could made a work of art out of each other. 

And he felt relieved, truthfully, to know himself in all his existence. These memories were his. They belonged to him. Good and Bad. Because, not all of it was bad. He recalled the beautiful earth he'd explored in its entirety and the many humans he'd watched and helped, learning just how unique and special they all were. “This is me,” he said to Dean, finding that a tear escaped as he said it. 

And Dean responded warmly, “welcome home.” 

Cas smiled at this. knowing it was almost over. He could have everything he wanted, which right now was only Dean. But there was one more thing to do before he could truly be free. And with a deep breath, Cas reached forward toward the tangled web of light and energetically began plucking each strand away from its source, watching the glowing strings release back to their origins, freeing angel after angel. 

_I'm not a leader Naomi_ , he thought as he worked. _I'm a liberator._


	42. We were Gods

Dean watched as Cas pulled thread after thread, returning the angels' consciousness to themselves. It was such a relief to have Cas come back to himself, but this? 

“Cas,” he said, “Cas, wait.” 

Cas stopped briefly, looking towards the sound. 

“Dean?” 

Dean looked at Cas's face, full of fury and glory. A part of him wanted to let Cas destroy the dam that held his family captive. After all, who was he to question Cas? He knew little of what this would do to the angels. Even Cas was a complexity that Dean felt he would spend the rest of his life discovering piece by piece. 

But angels are followers, he thought, reminding himself of the army that had flocked to Cas as their savior. Was that cycle bound to repeat itself? Cas was unique from the other angels, if only by degrees. He might be able to lead them in their journey of self discovery, Dean thought, but found the idea gave him little comfort. 

And what of the world? Would it again be the sandbox for angels? He shuddered at the memory of the angels warring against one another. And then his mind landed on the biggest question, presenting itself at the front of his mind, demanding attention; what of the two of them? Would he lose Cas to being the new God? Again? 

But Cas looked as if his face might burst with the joy of finally releasing his family from their imprisonment, and he realized that he couldn't be the reason to take that away. So instead, he said: 

“Cas, do you think they can handle it?. . . I mean, will they come back from the betrayal, the loss of authority?” 

And despite his concerns, it made Dean sad to watch Cas pause, doubt forming on his face. Cas looked down again at the strands of light, his face forlorn. 

“So you think I should just leave them here?” he asked, his voice broken. 

Dean found he couldn't answer as a wave of sadness washed over him. He looked at Naomi, silently cursing her again for the separation she caused, even unconscious. 

When Cas looked up again, he swallowed deeply before letting a quiet sentence escape; “Who am I to play God?” he said. 

And Dean realized, they weren't Gods. They were pawns. They always had been, no matter the power they felt and the discoveries they had made. It wasn't the power that separated Cas from the other angels. It was the fact that he'd decided that his freedom was the most precious gift he could fight for. 

His eyes looked towards Dean, almost begging him to see. Begging the man he loved to understand that every consequence would be worth it, because who were they to cage the entire species before the crime? 

Dean wondered how many more saw like Cas. Like Anna? How many simply wanted freedom to think, act and know themselves. Dean then realized the love Cas had for them. It wasn't enough that Cas needed to be free. Because he never would be if he couldn't do this. And suddenly Dean understood, that the choice never belonged to them in the first place. Yes, Cas and Dean would keep an eye out for heavenly chaos. Maybe that's all it would lead to, Dean thought, wondering how many of them would seek out Naomi for revenge. But then again, what if there was one more Cas, begging for release. . . Dean looked at Cas's blue, earnest eyes, and felt his heart break at the thought. They would deal with whatever the consequences, he decided. Because this was right. 

“I'm here, Cas,” he said. “Help your family.” 


	43. Everything

Sam looked at Rebekah as she sat dejectedly on the porch, feeling a strange sense of familiarity. She wanted relatability. She wanted a safe home environment. And if it weren't for Dean, Sam could imagine his life taking a very similar turn. But even if Dean had shielded Sam from a lot, his older brother hadn't been able to do so for himself. He looked at Rebekah again, thinking that this had been Dean's existence; A soldier. 

He sighed, thinking of his brother's self-sacrificing behaviors. Eager to follow his father's orders, growing up too fast and too rough. And, looking at Rebekah, he had a feeling he better understood Dean in this moment than he might have in a long time. _This is what a soldier looks like when they have time to breathe,_ he thought. _Assess_. When their leaders are gone and the individual behind the persona creeps in. And it broke his heart a little to think that he hadn't understood fully what was happening with Dean when their father died. 

And yet, all at once, it made him glad again for Cas. Because if anyone could understand Dean, it was Cas. For two people so different from one another, Cas and Dean were very alike, and the thought made his chest warm a little. 

He looked at the three angels surrounding him and felt his heart go out to them. He regretted having to do this to them, but it wouldn't last forever. Sam's stomach knotted as he wondered at how long everything seemed to be taking. Where were they? What was going on? 

Then, bringing Sam back to the moment, Rebekah abruptly stood, looking lightheaded. He looked at the two angels in the holy fire and their demeanor mimicked Rebekah's. Each of them looked unnaturally ill, swaying for a moment as if trying to catch their balance. Sam furrowed his eyebrows. But then, suddenly, as if someone had cut the strings to a marionette, all three bodies fell to the ground in unison, dust billowing from the impact. 

Sam held his breath, feet inching forward, blade raised in the air. 

“Rebekah?” he called out timidly. 

He glanced over the other angels and they laid in a similar fashion, all three appearing to have passed out. _Can that even happen to an angel?_ Sam wondered, starting to feel more nervous. _What the hell is going on? Is this something to do with Dean? With Cas?_

Sam reached a hand out toward Rebekah, debating on whether or not to try and shake her awake, and he felt a small amount of fear creeping in. The whole thing felt wrong. But, before his hand landed on Rebekah's shoulder, she suddenly bolted up, gasping, causing Sam to jump a bit in surprise. 

Sam looked over and realized the other angels were up again, too. Rebekah breathed heavily, scrambling to her feet, and backed away from Sam in surprise, her eyes wide. 

“What?” she began breathlessly. “How—?” she started but couldn't seem to finish as her eyes blinked frantically and she backed herself into one of the porch's pillars with a small thump. 

In his peripheral, Sam could see the other angel's similar reaction as the man angel ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head in confusion, his face anxious. 

“What is going on?” Sam asked, feeling the roughness in his voice. The question came out demanding and heavy. 

Rebekah finally started to steady as she forced herself to breathe out in small, slow exhales, her mouth making an “o” shape as she did. Then, suddenly, she stopped, as if she'd found some way to ground herself back in the moment. Sam waited expectantly until she finally looked up. 

“What the hell just happened?” Sam breathed. 

Rebekah looked at him with disbelieving eyes and tone as she said “I remember.” 

And Sam started to get frustrated with the anxiety. “Remember what?” he spit, louder than intended. 

But Rebekah didn't seem to notice. Instead, she looked up at him and answered with one word as if it was an adequate explanation: “Everything.” 


	44. Did you feel it?

It was done. For better or worse, Cas had released an entire species to the world. He blinked as he oriented himself again with his body, waiting for Dean and Naomi to wake up. After he'd liberated the other angels, Cas's grace had brought them back here and he'd been the first to come into consciousness. He sat now with hands draped over his bent knees, letting his mind process. 

After a minute, he crawled over to Naomi, feeling the exhaustion in his limbs as he looked over her face. For a moment, Cas thought she might be dead, but a small flutter of her chest spoke otherwise. Cas was now kneeling over her, studying his captor in her vulnerable state. 

“Did you feel it?” he found himself whispering to her. “. . . when I cut your dominion away? Did it feel like someone had stolen part of you, or did it feel like a distant dream?” Then, Cas paused, his face unconsciously inching closer to hers. 

Suddenly, he grabbed his angel blade and rolled Naomi onto her back, her arms falling to her side softly. With two fingers, Cas tilted up Naomi's chin, exposing her neck to him. He noted the thick lines of her jugular veins pushing through the taught skin. His blade felt heavy as he laid it on her throat, the skin dipping lightly from the contact. 

“Will you feel this?” he asked, his voice level, steady and quiet, lacking fury and emotion. 

And he felt the moment that called for an atonement of flesh, Cas at the helm, Naomi laid out to be sacrificed to the persuasions of retribution. Awaiting punishment. 

And Cas hesitated. He looked from Naomi to Dean then back again. _I should finish her,_ he thought. But his hand stayed rooted in place. In fact, his whole body felt as if it were in stasis, waiting for fate to take the decision away from him. As if suddenly, someone wiser or more powerful might step in and take control of his hands and finish the story for him. 

_How ironic,_ he thought. _That just when I'm free, I find myself craving someone to tell me what to do._ But, that was just it, wasn't it? There had always been forces telling him what was right and wrong, good or bad. Whether it was heaven or the Winchesters. But maybe, in the quiet of the unconscious room, Cas could make his own morality, if only for a moment. 

He looked down at Naomi, noting the small bead of blood that was surfacing under the place where he'd nicked her skin. And slowly, he let his knife sweep across her throat, ever so lightly. Naomi's eyes opened wide in response, gasping as Cas watched her small ghostly source of power seep from her as white luminescent streams of grace dissolved into the air. He cupped her neck tenderly with the palm of his hand and pushed a tiny amount of his grace forward, feeling the familiar warming sensation as her flesh stitched together again as it healed beneath his touch. 

When Cas's hand fell away from her, Naomi was awake, staring into Cas's eyes in silence. Cas backed away to give her a small amount of space, but Naomi didn't move. Instead she stared up at him with an expression of surprise and confusion. Cas helped her sit up, waiting quietly, though for what, he wasn't sure. 

Suddenly, though, he saw it, the gradual change in Naomi's face as she registered everything that had transpired. Cas knew she recognized what he had done, from the broken connections to releasing her grace to the ether, leaving her irreversibly human. 

And Naomi hung her head, and began to cry. 


	45. No shepherd, No Flock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my fabulous readers! Ok, so I stayed up late doing something fun that I've been wanting to do for this story for awhile and I wanted to share it with you/get your opinion. So, my process when writing is to see the scenes in my head, kind of like a scene in a movie. And, something you may not know about me is that I love music. So, when I write certain stuff, specific songs sometimes come to my mind that match what I'm feeling when I write certain chapters. And I decided to put a playlist together for this story. 
> 
> The playlist is obviously incomplete, because the story is incomplete, but I just had this total need for some time to make it. Anyway, I have kind of weird taste in music (sorry no country or classic rock, really. Although I should probably find some next time considering Dean's taste in music. Lol) buuuuuut, I can't decide if I should publish it on here. I mostly made it for me because it makes me so happy (like, literally, I couldn't go to sleep 'till it was done :)) but I was going to see if you guys would want to see it.
> 
> So, if you want me to post the playlist and chapters/moments in the story the songs go with, let me know in the comments section or on tumblr or something and I'll see if people even want it :). No pressure, though, it's Whatever :) I can't guarantee it'll be your style, but hopefully it can portray the feeling I was going for with the chapters. :D

Cas walked back through the halls of heaven, comforted by the warmth of Dean's palm pressed against his as they held hands. It was a strange sensation to have Dean so close like this, but now that he remembered what it was like to have him near, Cas wondered if he could ever get enough. Still, despite the memories, holding hands with the man he loved still seemed new and experimental, and the touch sent a thrill up his arm. 

But, in the background, he heard the tired tread of small footsteps and he peered back at Naomi's form trailing behind. He looked at the ex-angel, suit and hair disheveled, her eyes plastered on the walls, walking slowly as if memorizing every inch of heaven as she went. And Cas swallowed. _She's saying goodbye,_ he realized, his breath catching in his chest. He stumbled over his next step as their exit from heaven began to feel like a funeral procession. Cas had taken away Naomi's entire identity and purpose in a second and now he escorted the shell of her out as if he were heaven's own gate keeper. And the irony wasn't lost on him. 

And suddenly, Naomi stopped. She hadn't been crying for awhile now, but the glossy sheen of a drying trail from a tear was painted down her cheek. Cas pivoted towards her. 

Naomi looked at the tangle of the two men's hands, face painted with defeat. “Why didn't you kill me?” she whispered, her voice hoarse. 

Cas paused, trying to keep his voice steady when he finally spoke. 

“Naomi,” he started, but stopped. Why hadn't he killed her? Clearly she needed to be stopped. Cas had known he needed to do everything he could to avoid history repeating itself. But Cas knew taking her grace was, to Naomi, a fate worse than death. But he'd done it anyway. And he'd perhaps become as vicious as his captor herself in the action. 

But, admittedly, it wasn't solely about his wounds. Naomi was special. Somehow heaven had taken residence inside her, and he knew she could never let it go. Cas had seen it in her eyes. She was an idealist, which perhaps even posed more threat than a soldier. Naomi would never stop trying. She would never let it go. And, left unchecked, they would be back here again in a century. He had to do it, didn't he? 

“Believe it or not,” he started, “I was protecting heaven. We're not all that different, Naomi.” 

She tilted her head, smiling as if in disbelief. Her eyes shone with desperation “I would have been kind enough to kill you,” she said. And a new tear found its way down her face. 

Cas's head dropped and Dean squeezed Cas's hand in reassurance. Cas squeezed it back before letting go and walking towards Naomi. 

And tentatively, Cas reached out. He placed his hands on her shoulders, first. She looked up at him with confused, vulnerable eyes, but didn't pull away. They stood quietly that way for a moment, Then finally, slowly, he let both hands slide to her back, bringing her head to his chest, cradling her as if he would a child. He knew she'd never been touched this way. Neither had he before Dean. Some angels were more human in their relating, but Naomi was like Cas. Or Cas was like Naomi. The difference was, Cas had Dean. So, he held her head there, her body stiff as he brushed her hair out of her face awkwardly with one hand. Then, finally, he felt the tension in her shoulders dissolve as two small palms found their way to the small of Cas's back, pulling him close to her. 

Naomi wasn't crying, but her breathing was staggered as if releasing the trauma from her body in short bursts of air, vibrating through Cas's chest and shaking them both. 

And it was like waiting out the rain, small breaths becoming louder in their ears until finally, it trickled down to just them, breathing in tandem, Cas feeling the warm release of air from her mouth on his chest. 

Finally, Cas whispered quietly to the top of her head. “I wasn't strong enough. I didn't want to kill another angel. I couldn't do it.” 

Naomi closed her eyes against Cas's chest. Finally, she said so quietly, it could almost be missed. “I know.” 

And she didn't argue. She didn't talk about how heaven's future would be affected by Cas's actions. She didn't struggle any more for the thing she loved most dearly in the world. Because it didn't belong to her anymore. 


	46. Keep your ending to yourself

Dean and Cas exited the house with steady steps, hands grasped tightly together. Sam viewed it like the final exhale of a breath he'd held for years. Dean was safe. Cas was safe. They were alive and Sam could see that they were fused in a way they never had been before. Clearly a lot had happened inside of heaven. 

But a lot had happened outside of the portal, too. In fact, Sam wasn't exactly sure what was going on, but he tried unsuccessfully to put the pieces together as he watched the angels, confused. Rebekah was by the holy fire, whispering in hushed tones with Thomas and Sara, and it felt as if the tables had turned on him. One moment Sam had played the role of captor, the angels waiting with baited breath for Sam to act or to free them. He had held their lives in his hands and he felt the chill of it as they'd looked at him with mournful eyes, Sam, yet again, becoming demonized, in a way. 

But this. This was different. Rebekah had said she remembered everything, and the delivery packed weight with it, though Sam had no idea what it meant. And after, it was as if he weren't the only one holding an angel blade, and instead had stumbled on a sacred, private meeting as Sara cried and Thomas' face seemed buried and far away as he held her against his chest. And when Sam raised his weapon and took a step toward them no one had even blinked. Instead, they continued whispering in solemn tones words like “shame” and “retribution” seeping through the distance between them to his ears. 

He'd never seen angels so unceremonious and vulnerable, looking towards each other as if a fog of separation had finally lifted and they were left mirroring the incarnations of tragedy to each other. The melancholy ghosted of Hiroshima and the Bubonic plague and Sam found himself wondering if the world were about to end. Again. 

And he felt as if his mouth were stopped up, holding his words inside him, turning his stomach sour with questions and confusion. So, when Dean and Cas strolled from the house, he felt as if to scream with relief. And, as if they were part of a different story, their demeanor contrasted the waves of trauma that surrounded him like the tranquil focal point of the storm. In fact, they looked happy. Which only served to pose more questions to Sam's mind. 

Then, when his eyes fell on Sam, Dean's face was painted with relief, and his brother smiled shyly when he saw Sam's eyes fall on his hand enclosed with Cas's. Sam relaxed slightly. For a suspended moment, it became just the three of them at home in the bunker. Safe. 

But in a second, the angels turned turned toward their advance, watching silently, attention drawn away (for the first time since they'd collapsed) from each other. Their eyes tracked the different steps of Dean and Cas with intensity. And Cas let go of him, walking to them with a hesitant face, his mouth slightly open as if testing his words in his head before saying them aloud. But the words didn't come, and Rebekah spoke first. 

“Castiel,” she started, taking a step toward him, then stopped. Her eyes froze on one spot, widening; in astonishment, horror or surprise, Sam didn't know. And Sam had to lean forward a bit to see what had unsettled her. And when he did, he felt himself equally taken aback. Because hidden behind Cas and Dean was the last person Sam expected to see right now: Naomi. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist for this is up for anyone who's interested :) Sorry the chapter was a bit short this week.


	47. Pause

Rebekah's head was spinning. Behind a curtain of fire, Thomas and Sarah looked back at her with equally unnerved expressions. And she mentally touched inside of herself, finding the piece of her that had been cut free. 

It hadn't been like recalling a single event. Instead, it was as if she'd experienced her life again, like a thick wall had been removed and she could see herself in entirety. A minute ago she'd spoken to Sam about family and familiarity with the people she'd spent her existence with. And now she realized there _was_ a sense of camaraderie with the people in front of her. Something they shared. A tying together of blood and brutality. 

And she could see it in Thomas and Sarah, too. The cold memories hitting them with precision as the grip on each others hands loosened and Thomas's eyes glossed over, Sarah placing her free hand over her mouth. 

Rebekah raised her own hands up to her eyeline, viewing her palms like they belonged to a stranger. She'd killed so many people, and not just humans, but angels, too. She remembered her fingers frosted in blood as she'd ended life after life as if the concept of living, itself, were repulsive to her. 

_I'm a machine,_ she thought, _functioning in absolute perfection._ Her memories weren't of failures; The violence and the killing were all in perfect harmony with who she was created to be: a monster. _And what a tricky species of beast an angel is_ she realized, almost in awe. We are both the nightmare under a child's bed and the god he prays to to free himself from its grasp. 

And Sarah wrenched Rebekah back from the depth of her mind with something she didn't even know angel's could do; she threw up. 

Thomas was bent over Sarah, hands on her back as she wiped her mouth of bile, looking up at Rebekah. 

“I feel so ashamed,” she said in explanation, as if Rebekah would judge her for her display of humanity. Or maybe it was shame from something she'd done. And Rebekah wondered if Sarah remembered hurting anyone, too. _These two must have been soldiers,_ she thought, _they were guarding the entrance to heaven, after all._

She knew she wasn't wrong when Thomas started to talk about retribution. It was the kind of word an angel was meant to say, soaked in justice and punishment. But who deserved it this time? God, for making them so brutal? Naomi, for making them forget? Or the person responsible for making them remember? 

Responsible. What a dirty word that felt like now, even just inside her head. Because the burden of blood weighed heavily on her shoulders right now. And the funny thing was that she didn't normally feel guilty. There were people who she'd killed in battle that she'd never forgotten. No one bothered to purge these from her mind, because creatures made to kill don't feel shame for acting on their nature. But the things that Naomi had eradicated had been pulled from their minds for very specific reasons, Rebekah realized. Because even angels have their limits. Have that place where they feel a pull stronger than duty. Something, perhaps, akin to a sense of self. And knowing yourself, Rebekah realized, was a dangerous sort of business in this line of work, because it opened up possibilities for the destructive properties of empathy. And something else: Anger. 

She felt it now— deep waves of fury encompassing her, filling her up as if in an attempt to burn away the images and feelings of her past. And yet, she was split in two, the dichotomy of who she thought she was and who she really was playing tug of war with her mind. Could she ever mend the two? Or was it inevitable that she would be stuck trying to piece herself back together and find out how to be whole again. 

But at that moment, someone appeared from the house, pulling her from her thoughts. 

“Castiel,” she started, but stopped, frozen. Because behind Cas was the reason for it all. Her chest began to burn. 

She blamed Naomi. She blamed god, and she blamed herself. And there wasn't anyone left to tell her how to react, what to remember or who to be. It terrified her. And whatever happened next, whatever choice she made next, wouldn't be born of an order or loyalty to anyone else. It would belong to her. 

Naomi's eyes met Rebekah's and bewilderingly, she thought she spied the evidence that she'd been crying. And Naomi was alive, walking with Cas as if she hadn't tried to take everything dear to him away. Everything and everyone stopped at exactly that moment. No one spoke. No one moved. And Rebekah knew that they were all waiting for a new era to begin. What would a world without Gods look like? The moment someone acted it would all begin, and every action would truly hold a sense of accountability with it. Because there was no puppeteer. 

But Rebekah found a sense of clarity in the pause. Who would she choose to be? Would she continue the cycle of violence, or end it? _Sometimes things have to end the way they start_ she thought. 

And she attacked. 


	48. Soliloquy

There was no fear inside her when Rebekah advanced on Naomi. She rounded Dean and Castiel as if they were exhales of afterthought, nothing stopping her from her resolution. And she'd grabbed Castiel's blade as if he weren't the formidable obstacle she knew him to be, like her body was possessed and could scale any impediment in her high. 

In a small way, she was aware of Dean and Sam watching as if viewing pictures in a storybook; outside of the main narrative looking in. And she realized that angels were all characters in the dark satire of heaven's soliloquy, an orphaned race that deities could laugh at while the angels' tears dripped down, drowning the humans they were built to save. 

And Naomi, the star villain. Or was she the mother? Perhaps she'd always meant to save her children the pain of responsibility. But, she'd thieved away both chaff and grain from them without thought to what it made you when you were hollowed out. _It makes you a ghost,_ Rebekah thought, speeding her advance. 

And if Rebekah thought she would be met with defiance, she was wrong. Because when her hand moved Castiel's blade against Naomi's neck, the other woman didn't shy away. Instead, Naomi exposed the delicate skin, baring her weakness in front of her while they looked at each other. Naomi leaned into the other hand Rebekah had wrapped around the back of her neck. And Rebekah could see Naomi's design—to play the part of a savior, dying for the sins of the whole of the angelic race. Naomi wanted this. Wanted her redemption. And her eyes begged for Rebekah to give it to her. 

Rebekah leaned in closer, but then paused. This close, she could feel it. Could see the changes in the woman in front of her. Naomi was human. 

Rebekah's lip trembled for a moment as she let understanding find her; She had a helpless, vulnerable thing in her grasp, incapable of protecting herself. And yet, Naomi's eyes held a sense of pride in her as if trying to pretend at dignity, though there was none left to be had. 

Is this how Naomi felt when she'd tried to fix the angels like broken little toys? 

Some black part of Rebekah took pleasure in the role reversal. And it was sweet for a moment until it became too much, the pressure of her own sins building. She needed an outlet for her shame. And here Naomi was, presenting herself like a willing vessel where she could pour all her darkness. 

Part of Rebekah's mind thought it was too holy for Naomi. And the other part wanted to meet her desires. What was another red stained motion to add to the pile, anyway? Besides, maybe this one would be the purifying kind. 

“Do it,” Naomi said sweetly, as if lulling her to sleep. Her hands fell docilely to her sides as if they'd never been intimate with the different shades that blood could make. But they both knew better, and suddenly, Rebekah's body burned with memories of cold chairs, the gnawing sound of drills and the smell of burning flesh. 

And the pain was a beacon to her, reminding her there needed to be a sacrifice. There was blood to be paid. And Rebekah raised her arm toward the sky, arching it above her. Beside her, Castiel yelled in protest, though she didn't know why. This is what they'd all been waiting for, Rebekah thought, even if they didn't know it before now; a new beginning. 

And she screamed, too, the sounds giving her force as her blade fell. She closed her eyes. She felt the power of violence as her blade connected. She felt the warm blood trickle down her hand like a river. She heard the thump of the body falling to the dirt. She felt the silence as the end came. And she opened her eyes. 

Naomi stared back at her, eyes wide, still standing. 

And Castiel was on the ground. 


	49. Born

_No,_ Dean thought first, then he yelled it, rushing to Cas and dropping on his knees, bringing Cas's head into his lap while the hepressed his hands against the wound. “No!” 

“No, no, no, no, no. . .” The stream of denial came steady as he whispered the word over and over again unaware of the tears flowing down his face until they were stopped up in the creases of his mouth and he could taste their briny tracks. 

Cas's eyes were closed, but his chest dipped up and down in small motions. Dean pressed harder on the spot where Rebekah had stabbed Cas and Dean's hands were getting drenched. But Cas looked peaceful and relaxed. And beautiful. Like he hadn't just taken the bullet for something worthless. Someone worthless. Dean looked up at Rebekah, anger filling him. She'd dropped Cas's blade and was staring down at him, a horrified look on her face. Naomi's face looked similar, but appearing more shocked than disturbed. 

“You're a bunch of fucking idiots, you know that?” Dean yelled, pulling Cas's head higher into his lap. “I have never seen such a selfish group of people in my life.” 

Dean's voice lost its yelling quality, but began to get lower as he looked into the women's eyes accusingly. 

“There are consequences to what you do,” he said darkly. “You aren't children anymore, don't you get that?” He ran his hand across Cas's face, staining his cheek. He wasn't looking at them, but at Cas when he ran his fingers through his hair and whispered, “look at what you've done. You've hurt the one person who cared about you more than any of you deserved.” 

He vaguely noticed Sam's hand on his shoulder as the angels watched on, doing nothing. Saying nothing. And Dean could sense remorse in Rebekah. That she hadn't wanted to hurt Cas was clear now. And Dean thought he might hate her more for that. 

“And it was all a fucking waste,” said Dean. 

* * * 

Cas sat at the grand canyon, feet dangling without shoes from the edge. He couldn't say the last time he'd been barefoot, but he thought it was freeing as he watched his toes wiggle in the air. And he wasn't in a suit. He was wearing Dean's clothes. He could tell. They smelled like him; musky and heady. He inhaled, smiling a little. 

Cas's head dipped down to his chest as his eyes wandered the depths of the canyon. His vision snaked across the Colorado river. _It's higher than it should be,_ he mused, crossing his ankles across each other below him. 

Deep between the walls of the canyon, the waters raged, getting deeper and wider, biting at the edges of each bank, recklessly devouring the earth below and sweeping it away. 

Cas watched curiously as the water tumbled and smashed its way indiscriminately through the rough and he pictured the screams of each reckless sweep of destruction. And the red dirt came with it, staining the water as it got deeper, thicker and higher. Much higher. Finally it was blood colored and violently purging anything in its path. Trees. Bushes. Rocks. 

_Blood,_ Cas thought, watching the display. _The Canyon is bleeding._ He leaned forward, eyeing the powerful walls of water bash and grind at the earth. _Like me,_ a deep voice in Cas's mind supplied. And suddenly, he felt a wet, warm sensation soaking through the front of his shirt. He grabbed at his shoulder, feeling the deep gash of a blade as his hand turned red. 

He furrowed his eyebrows and looked down into the canyon again. The water was rising steadily, filling up each crevice of the rocks with blood. And it all started to come back to him: Rebekah. 

He'd been stabbed. To save them. Cas looked down at the torrid streams under him, his mind providing a watery grave to sweep him away. 

_I'm dying,_ he thought while his blood dripped down, down, down into the water. An angel and the rocks; two great powers hemorrhaging their life force together. 

But Dean. He thought he could hear him in the distance, yelling out his name. Desperate.  
  


_I need to get back to him,_ Cas thought, missing the feel of Dean's warm hand in his. But the water called to him below. 

* * * 

Cas wasn't waking up. Dean's hands were trembling when Sam brought over wet rags from the house. He let Sam apply pressure to Cas's wound as he hesitantly let go to start loosening Cas's tie. The material was soaked as he pulled it free from his neck before he started to slowly undo Cas's buttons, freeing him from soiled trench coat, and shirt. 

Slippery red lines ran down Cas's bare chest from where Sam's hands were, and Dean tried his best to wipe them free with the rag. 

“He wasn't stabbed in the heart,” Dean said, though to who, it wasn't clear. “He should be healing.” 

“I must have grazed his heart,” said Rebekah, her voice strained. Dean couldn't look at her. His eyes remained fixed on Cas, willing him to wake up and open his eyes. Begging God to see blue. 

“Cas,” he said, kissing Cas's wet forehead, the metallic taste of pennies on his lips, “Come back to me.” 

* * * 

“Come back to me,” a voice whispered, like an echo in the rocks. It was Dean. _Why am I not healing?_ Cas thought. 

Cas felt like he was floating now, his toes red and dripping down into the chasms below. He could fall down into it. Make the feeling go away. 

Cas wondered if he'd reached the pinnacle of his creation. To free the angels and to die to save their purity. The blood wanted a victim. Wanted him to fall into the river. And suddenly, under the current, he saw the angels drowning, screaming. 

Dean or them, the question arose. Maybe he could never have both. 

“Don't you dare die on me,” came Dean's whispered voice on the wind. 

Dean. _God, I must be getting delirious_. Dean was the end game. Fuck rivers and fuck the blood. 

* * * 

“I'm so sorry” Rebekah said. And it sounded like she meant it. 

But Dean didn't hear it. All of his focus was on Cas. So, he didn't notice when Naomi pulled a tattered piece of paper from Cas's trench coat and freed with a sad look on her face. Didn't notice when she unfolded it. 

“I'm starting to forget.” she read aloud, “I wish I felt hope right now, but something is breaking inside of me. For weeks, I've watched you, waiting for anything, any sign that you recall us. Can you not see me pleading for you to remember?” 

Dean looked up for the first time, eyes furious. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” he said. “Stop.” 

But Naomi's face was calm, and she continued. 

“I needed you to know. I needed a place to tell you, you were loved, Cas, by me. And even if I forget us, there will always be a reality where we were together. Where we were happy.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dean said, reaching up just high enough to snatch away his letter from Naomi. 

Her face was blank as she watched Dean pocket the letter and he returned to look after Cas. 

“I did this,” she said, looking down at Cas. “All of this.” 

From the corner of his eye, Dean could see Rebekah's surprised reaction. A confession of guilt was probably the last thing she expected from Naomi. Dean would have shared her sentiment if he wasn't consumed by his bloody angel, weak and turning pale underneath him. 

_* * *_

Cas watched the water, wondering what to do. For someone so used to power, it was unnerving how helpless he'd felt over the past 48 hours. God, and how tired. Exhaustion filled his limbs, his eyes heavy and his head dizzy. Angels screamed below him and Dean's voice echoed above him. He almost felt as if his body were being torn in two. How many more fucking metaphors would he have to face? He was tired of it, and if he never dreamed again, he thought he might find peace in that. 

But the question remained: Dean or his family? 

Dean. Unequivocally Dean. But that wasn't such a surprise, was it? No, he was missing something. Maybe this had nothing to do with Dean. 

He looked into the black red depths, feeling it inside himself. Not Dean. The blood. It was time to face the blood. 

He could have hesitated. He could have deliberated. But he didn't. In fact, he thought he'd been ready for this for awhile. And so, slowly, he closed his eyes and slipped away, falling for what felt like years into the cherry colored liquid below. 

But the funny thing was, that when he finally reached the water. It was blue. Calm and blue. Soothing, clean and warm. And, when he opened his eyes, he was looking at Dean's upside down form, hands on his chest, Sam beside him. 

It turned out he wasn't dying after all. He wasn't choosing Dean or his family, or Death. He was choosing himself. He was choosing life. Born of blood and freed from it. 


	50. Solid Footing

Dean thought he'd never seen something so breathtaking as when Cas opened his eyes to the light. He scooped up Cas's head, peppering tiny kisses on his forehead, vaguely aware of the fact that he was doing it in front of the other angels and his brother. Cas smiled up at him and Dean returned the gesture, feeling relief washing over him. The time to care what anyone thought was past; They'd been to hell and back and Dean knew it was a miracle he held his angel in his arms. Alive.

And so he took a minute. Stole it, even, as the group of people around them watched on. He brushed Cas's hair back and laid a calming hand on his chest while he looked into his upside-down stare.

“Don't you ever do that to me again, you fucking got that?” he said, blinking back tears. He couldn't even manage to sound angry.

Cas smiled, placing his hand over Dean's and squeezing it before sitting up slowly. Dean draped an arm over him protectively prompting Cas to go slow. Cas nodded in thanks and then stood, his knees buckling for a moment before he steadied himself with Dean's support. Dean helped Cas don his bloody shirt, tie and jacket, like trying to piece him back together again.

“Castiel,” Rebekah started, her face shadowed with regret. But Cas held up a hand, cutting her off. Still, it was Naomi he looked at when he started talking.

“It's my turn to talk,” he said, his voice low and confident, even as he leaned weakly against Dean's torso. Dean felt his anger gaining momentum again as he viewed Naomi, and he moved to say something, to do something, but Cas held him back with a look. And he stayed. He knew he needed to let Cas handle this on his own. If there was anything the last few days had taught him, it was to trust Cas. Implicitly. It was a half formed thought, mostly because Dean didn't want to admit to it, but he realized there had been a lack of trust between them for a long time now. The fact that both of them had sought out Crowley before each other solidified that in a way for Dean.

Dean glanced up at Sam, feeling a sense of awe for his brother in that moment, because he'd done what neither he nor Cas had been able to until now. He knew Sam well enough to know his brother wouldn't have sat guarding the angels at the entrance to heaven if Cas hadn't asked him to. He felt sure it killed Sam to wait and hope for the best—because Dean knew it would have killed him. And at that moment, Dean felt a sense of gratitude. It was like Sam was showing them both all along what it looked like to put faith in the people you cared about. And Dean wondered if that wasn't what he'd been missing all along.

Dean was pulled away from that thought as he looked at Cas. His eyes were fixed tightly on Naomi's as he looked at her.

* * *

“It's my turn,” Cas said again, letting go of Dean and taking a slow step until he was standing firm in front of her.

“We,” Cas gestured from Naomi to Rebekah to the angels imprisoned in the fire, “are a broken race. We're cycling through the fate's designs like they own us. Punishing ourselves,” he looked to Rebekah, “Punishing our desires,” he said, glancing at Thomas and Sarah. And finally, his gaze rested Solely on Naomi, “And punishing each other,” he said, his tone sad.

He grabbed Dean's hand, lacing his fingers inside of it: “And I'm done.”

Cas then let go and walked stiffly and slowly to the house, turning on the hose. He sprayed down the holy fire with a tired face, the motion deliberate; one small, last act to save the angels.

He then made his way over to Rebekah and placed a hand on her cheek. She looked up at him, surprised.

“I forgive you,” he said gently in a gesture of pardon, then reached up with his other hand, pulling her head forward, placing a delicate kiss on top of it. And then, he moved to Naomi, softly doing the same.

He walked back to Dean and Sam, and stopped to survey the skyline. The sun was starting to come up, peeking through the trees in thin beams, beckoning the start of a new day. He couldn't help but feel that he finally had family behind him and in front of him as he turned to look back at the angels once again.

“What do we do now?” Naomi breathed timidly, her hair blowing slightly in the wind. And Cas couldn't help but think the angels in front of him looked beautiful as the light started to pour over them.

And Cas smiled. Really smiled. Genuinely. “Forgive yourselves, and live,” he said.

Then Cas walked to the Car between the two men beside him, feeling safe. Feeling whole. He left the angels behind him knowing something had started. Something had changed. He had acted as a sort of sacrifice, in a way, providing a fresh slate for those brave enough to take it. They were strong. They would be ok. Still, he knew it probably wouldn't be the last time he would encounter the angels, but he hoped that just maybe, he'd started an epidemic of sorts. A growing sense of momentum in freedom. A new world. But the thing that let him leave, the thing he realized that allowed him to finally walk away, was that it was their choice. And it wasn't his reign any more, or his job to control or decide for them; it was time for him to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh you guys, I know I've said this misleadingly in the past but this story is coming to its end soon and I'm suddenly feeling very sentimental about it (which if you know me, is REALLY out of character). Anyway, I just want you all to know how much I've grown to love you and how grateful I am for your support. I'll probably post something like this again at the REAL end of the story, because I'm a apparently I'm a total boob now, but I just thought I'd say it :) I love you guys <3


	51. The End

The deep vibrations of the impala engulfed Sam in a steadying hum as he gripped the wheel, spanning the long stretch of road that extended out in front of them. Each mile marker blurred slightly as they blinked by, the sun glinting off the green signs then disappearing like the burst and extinction of tiny shooting stars. He looked into his rear-view mirror studying Dean and Cas passed out in the back seat, bodies smashed against the dark vinyl. They were both filthy and bloody, their clothes ripped and their faces smudged in dirt as if they could be the poster children for a refugee camp. 

_They survived,_ he thought, leaning back in awe. _We all did._

Sam glanced back over his shoulder as a yellowed patch of light struck Dean and Cas's face making their skin glow. And he thought about how Dean hadn't even asked to drive. Instead, his older brother had silently climbed in the back seat with Cas as if it were the most natural place in the world for them to be. And Dean had circled Cas tightly with his arms, his face touched with a pure display of innocent thrill when Cas softly laid his head against his chest, Dean smiling at the act. Sam even thought he spied Dean sneak a kiss on top of Cas's head as if he didn't even want Cas to know he'd done it. Like it was a moment of secret adoration that he kept for himself. But, any physical and verbal affections were small and understated as the two men let the exhaustion of the last few days claim them. And Sam couldn't help but feel a sense of peace now as he looked at their sleeping, tangled forms breathing against each other like a final sanctuary. And he thought he'd never seen his brother so peaceful in all his life. 

Sam smiled as he saw Dean breath in a small tuft of Cas's hair, the strands twitching against his face. _Angel's aren't supposed to need sleep,_ he suddenly remembered. And yet, the sight of Cas's undefended, vulnerable facial features while he slept were calming, and Sam released the need to question it. _Cas deserves some rest,_ he thought. And he glanced at Dean's tight hold on Cas, his arms protesting any space between them as if to unconsciously chain them together and hold Cas there forever. 

_You both deserve some rest._

_* * *_

The lights were dim when Cas finally felt his shoulder hitch a little as a hand nudged him gently awake. He blinked through heavy lids and it took him a moment to register the foreign heat of Dean's chest against his ear and fingers locked between the spaces in his. 

“We're here,” Dean whispered, the air brushing the top of Cas's head as he spoke. And it didn't take long for Cas to realize they'd probably been sitting in the parking garage for awhile now, Sam gone, Dean not wanting to wake Cas. And Cas could sense Dean's slow, steady heartbeat through his chest, and he pulled Dean closer to him. He listened to the even drum of it as they stilled. 

And he felt bereft of it when Dean finally opened the car door with a creak, and both men made their way inside the bunker, hands clasped, bodies close, the walk slow and deliberate. 

With unspoken unity, they walked to Dean's room, he lead Cas through the door without turning on the light. And they stopped near Dean's bed, facing each other like habit and familiarity. 

And they _had_ done this before, they remembered that now, but it still felt untested when they let they leaned in closer letting their foreheads connect, slowly pulling their bodies closer together in small, shuffling steps. And Cas's breath hitched in tiny waves when Dean wrapped a hand slowly around the back of his neck with an exploring touch, his fingers weaving through the short strands of hair he found there. 

Then, the suspension of distance between them became tangible as Dean closed the gap painfully slowly. And excessive amounts of space and time wasted away until Cas finally felt the warmth of Dean's lips on his. It was a slow kiss as they memorized each other again, the entire display communicating a sense of stillness. Dean's hands were soft as they moved from the back of Cas's head to his neck and cheeks, roaming in light waves across his skin. And Cas wrapped his hands around Dean's back, feeling both the hard and soft lines of it through his shirt as he skimmed across the dip in Dean's lower spine and moved up to the cut of his shoulder blades. And deep down, Cas felt a part of him wish for time to expand and fill them up, holding them in this moment of peace and quiet: The hallowed space created when the two of them pulled away briefly from each kiss to whisper small “I love you's” in the dark. When they stripped away the barriers that had held them captive for so long. And finally, when they stopped, their foreheads still held together, eyes closed as if in supplication, it felt like both the ending and the beginning. And they let the world fall away from them, a part of Cas trying to convince himself of the fact that he'd finally grasped something real. Not a dream or a memory. Dean was here. 

But the moment Cas knew, the moment he genuinely believed, wasn't when they kissed. It wasn't when Dean tethered them together like an anchor with his grip. And it wasn't the moment they opened their eyes, seeing clearly in the darkness they shared, creating light together. 

Instead, the last string of illusion cut away softly from his mind, gently freeing him, when Cas finally let himself say it out loud: 

“I'm home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I just want to say how much I love you all. Thanks so much for the support and for reading my story. It has been such a healing process for me to be able to write in the good times and the bad over the last ten months and I appreciate your patience with this story. I know it took me forever, but thank-you for sticking with me. This has been my first real dedicated fanfic story and I've got to say the experience has been so good thanks to all of you. You are wonderful! Please don't be strangers :) <3 <3
> 
> P.S. I finished the playlist for those interested. I know it probably won't send an email about the update since it's all in one chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is [@moonlightcas](https://moonlightcas.tumblr.com/) feel free and come say hello! :)


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